After You
by nakigoe-chan
Summary: Eight years after the end of the manga (and Ranma's departure from Nerima) Akane and Ranma are reunited when an old friend gets murdered and they must work together in order to stay alive, find the killer...and clear their own names.
1. One for the Money

Ranma ½ is the property of Rumiko Takahashi, who no doubt has better things to do than look through the net for this one little high school student and sue her for using Takahashi-sama's characters without her permission. 'After You' is a play first produced at Actors Theatre of Louisville in 1990 and directed by Bob Krakower. I have no legal permission to use the title or lines as the play Akane performs.  
  
Author's Notes:  
  
While this will be a many-chapter fic, it is not the chapter fic I have been wrestling with since.well, since forever, I guess. But it is the first completed chapter of my first chapter fic (yay!) so I'm having happy thoughts at the moment.  
  
Originally, this was going to be a one-shot, romance/angst. But my muse didn't like it and kicked all these other ideas into my brain, making it a chapter fic, and changing the mood. So now it's romance/mystery/humor/suspense. Yeah, I did the first person thing again, but this time with a different character. For those who liked my Nabiki portrayal in TSAA, yeah, she gets a big part in this fic.  
  
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After You  
  
Chapter 1: One for the Money  
  
By: nakigoe-chan  
  
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There are some men that a woman never really gets over. They seem to get into your blood, circulating around your arteries and coming through your brain and back to your heart again and again.  
  
Annoying as hell, isn't it? They tear your mind and soul apart, make you question everything about yourself, redefine what you thought was love...and you hate them for it, love them for it, look down on them for it, look up to them for it...they make you a tornado of contradictions; except, of course, for the fact that you can't live without them. Well, it seems that way, once they're gone. Because in the end, men like that never stay, do they? Not in my case, anyway.  
  
His name was Ranma. Ranma Saotome. He was my fiancé when I was sixteen. And he was unbelieveable.  
  
Everyone knew it. The girls all loved him, the men were all jealous of him. And I.I wanted so much to be different, to be the untouchable mystery that I had been before he came, pretended to be neither - when I was in fact both. I was furious that he was so skilled, so motivated, such a center of attention. I couldn't convince myself that I wanted him out of my life, though, because he became my life. He was always looking out for me, no matter how often he hid behind a façade of insults that I was clumsy, macho, or ugly. They hid the fact that he cared about me enough to give up anything for my sake.  
  
He'd even give up me.  
  
But I, ever the ignorant, stubborn one, didn't realize this until he proved it.  
  
When it was too late.  
  
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I remember he had seemed distracted that day. He didn't tease or insult me in the morning. On the way to school I even left the perfect opening; just to see if he'd take it. He didn't.  
  
I thought maybe it was because of the fight we'd had the night before. It was no different from the ones we'd had day after day after day, but somehow we were both feeling more awkward than usual about this fight. Both of us got the impression: 'is this how it's always going to be?' Sometimes the fights were like sparring matches - a simple test, where we just jabbed lightly at the opponent to see how they would react. But sometimes it was like it had been the night before; furious stances, barbs as sharp as we could make them right into our enemy's weak spots, hurtful and degrading words that we both regretted later. But that was just the way it was. We didn't know how to stop ourselves from this pattern. Often we were so afraid of what we would find out about ourselves if we did stop that it made us want to hide away in that whirlwind of denial. We were both nearly eighteen by then, so we should have been able to act our age. If we had, maybe things would have turned out differently.  
  
But the only thing he gave me that day was a curious little smile, which somehow infuriated me more. I still don't know why this was, but there you are. And of course, insults from me led to insults from him, which finally snapped both of us.  
  
"What are you looking at?" I'd yelled.  
  
"Nothing..."  
  
"Hah! Trying to get a peek at me, you pervert?!"  
  
"Why would I want to look at an uncute tomboy like you?!"  
  
"Because you'll do anything as long as it lies under the category of 'hentai!'"  
  
"Not if that involved YOU in any way, I wouldn't!"  
  
"YOU BASTARD! I HATE you! I wouldn't marry someone like you if my life depended on it! In fact, I wish I'd never MET you!"  
  
His eyes became soft, his voice unreadable. "Do you?"  
  
I didn't notice the change.  
  
"Of COURSE!" As if it were the most obvious thing in the world.  
  
"Hmm..."  
  
"WHAT?!"  
  
"Nothing..."  
  
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He went home that day at lunch, and I followed him, furious that he might have left to sneak back to the house to do some sort of Happosai-esque thing. And the quiet, nagging voice in my head was insisting that something might be wrong with him.  
  
But when I arrived home the tone of the conversation he was having with my father was a very serious one - and the concept of a serious Ranma as opposed to the normal baka persuaded me to eavesdrop.  
  
"Mr. Tendo...you loved your wife, didn't you?"  
  
As if there was ever a more obvious answer. Her death had destroyed his mind - made him so susceptible to over-emotional outbursts that, had we lived in a town where there were enough normal people, he would have been permanently locked up in a padded room with a psychiatrist. Not to mention that he'd have been labeled as a flooding risk. But why was this all of a sudden important to Ranma?  
  
"OH! You LOVE my AKANE! BREAK OUT THE WEDDING DECARATIONS!"  
  
Only in my family are the wedding decorations used more often than the Christmas ones. It had become like a holiday event ever since Jusendo; every few months, try to get Ranma and Akane married, fail miserably, wait a few months, do it again.  
  
"THAT'S NOT IT!"  
  
Fury replaced ecstasy. "You DON'T love my Akane?! Raaaannnnmaaaaaa...!!"  
  
"NO! Look, how I feel isn't the point! The point is what if you had been made to marry someone you didn't love?"  
  
A sad look came on to Dad's face, as if he were imagining what that would be like. As if realizing what Ranma's point was, and the anguish of the realization of what he'd tried to condemn his daughter to. Condemn me to.  
  
A marriage without love.  
  
Little did they know that I DID love Ranma.  
  
Not that I had the courage to admit it, even to myself, so in the end, did it matter?  
  
Ranma was still talking. "If you truly loved your wife," he said, "You wouldn't make your daughter marry someone she doesn't really love, would you? Not unless you don't love Akane..."  
  
My father's voice was soft. "No... no, I wouldn't. And you - she - "  
  
"We never stop fighting. How happy would a marriage like that be? How long do you think it would last? Two years? One year? A few months?"  
  
Dad was silent.  
  
"Face it, Mr. Tendo. Your daughter doesn't love me. Don't mess up her future because of your friendship with Pop. Look at what a screw up he is. Is he more important to you than Akane?"  
  
Again, Dad was silent for a while. I was almost surprised that he wasn't bursting into tears, but then again, maybe this had more to do with mom than I thought. Maybe there was still some of the strong man that she fell in love with in there. Finally, he spoke.  
  
"Do you love my Akane?"  
  
"Like I said, it doesn't matter."  
  
"Do you love my Akane? Would you marry her?"  
  
"Do you remember what Toma said on that floating island? You can't have a relationship...if only one person wants it. Which is why I have to break my other engagements as well. I can't keep letting those girls believe that they have a chance, because they don't - they never really did. And they all have futures, dreams to pursue...and somewhere they'll find someone who they love like they love me - probably more - and hopefully that person will be able to love them as much in return. Because I can't. I can't love them - all because of someone who doesn't even love me. Ironic, ne?"  
  
"Are you going to go find Akane...say goodbye to her?"  
  
"No. I...I can't."  
  
Dad seemed to understand what he meant by that, but I had no clue, and I didn't care. No excuse for disappearing on me without even saying goodbye would have been good enough. I wanted to march right out there and stop him.  
  
But I was frozen to the spot; completely immobile. And while there was the possibility that he was just saying this as a way out of an arranged marriage with the uncute tomboy, everyone knew that Ranma couldn't lie to save his life.  
  
I couldn't believe it. He cared about me so much...and he let me go. I wanted to run out, hug him, say 'no, don't go, I didn't mean it, I never meant it, please stay...' but I didn't. Because I was, even then, afraid he'd turn me down; afraid he was faking it. Irrational of me, but the human heart is far from rational. And his dislike would be something utterly impossible to bear.  
  
So I stayed hidden.  
  
And he left forever.  
  
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Eight years later...  
  
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Since I had long ago lost the tendency toward anger that allowed me to pull large wooden mallets out of hammerspace and use them to smash my surroundings to pieces, my only option for destroying the horrible thing causing my pain was to throw it through the window. This was not, however, what I did, for several reasons.  
  
Firstly, it would have wrecked my window, and I really didn't have the money for a new window. Every time I thought back on all the windows I destroyed in the two years Ranma lived with us I wanted to tear my hair out - I had never thought that it was costing so much to replace them.  
  
My family never said anything to me about it - Kasumi was too sweet and Nabiki - who had some sort of deal worked out with the insurance company - was practically selling us the new windows herself, and no fool comment was going to come out of her mouth to stand between her and extortion. As for my father, he was doubtlessly afraid that touching upon the subject would lead him to be thrown through the window.  
  
Secondly, (if you will remember the original topic) it would have meant that I would have replace the thing causing my pain. Yes, I did need it. This was not the old days - the thing torturing me was no razor-clawed monster or crazed martial artist. This was a horror we *all* can relate to, especially those of us who are not morning people.  
  
"Goddamn alarm clock," I muttered as I crawled out of bed and turned it off. My black Labrador, Joey, opened one irresistible brown eye, gave me the 'what-the-hell-are-you-doing-up-at-this-hour?' look, and went back to sleep. That pretty much echoed my own sentiments, but I was a 25-year-old human and he was a 2-year-old dog, and we couldn't both spend our lives indulging in our fantasies of how much sleep one can actually get.  
  
I slouched into the kitchen extension in my apartment and looked for something vaguely edible. There wasn't much, owing to the fact that I was in between jobs. Which was nice way of saying that I was an actress who the directors had decided couldn't act against the competition lately, in an apartment that wasn't all that understanding of those who couldn't deal with the bills.  
  
So all that resembled food was Joey's dog chow and some peanut butter Cap'n Crunch cereal that, as it has been the only item on my diet for the last two days, I was getting rather sick of.  
  
Things could not possibly get any worse, was my only conscious thought as I stumbled to the bathroom. "I am going to starve to death," I grumbled miserably through my toothpaste to my sink (which listened to my rants dutifully every morning but never offered any consolation, as sinks rarely do), "and no one will find me until the landlord comes to evict me from the apartment. Which should be soon anyway, so I suppose I won't look too gross." I lifted my head and stare at my reflection. Ugh, maybe I would look too gross. Red-rimmed eyes, tangled hair, skin pale from malnutrition. I was glad that I didn't have a boyfriend; the poor man would wake up to me looking like this and kneel right over. I looked like shit.  
  
The doorbell rang, and I stumbled over to get it, hoping it would be God or the Publisher's Clearinghouse or some other form of deity who could save me from this miserable hellhole.  
  
When I looked through the peephole, however, the face staring out at me belonged to none other than my money-hungry older sister Nabiki.  
  
See, Akane? I told myself. Your pessimistic attitude was way out of line. You thought things couldn't get any worse. They just did.  
  
I hadn't seen Nabiki in nearly four years. She'd spread her ring of extortion and was making a killing off it, and I didn't even know what her claimed profession was. She was also probably still in deep doodoo with Dad. They'd had a serious falling out last time I saw them - Dad, who must have been allergic to work and profit, had finally not had enough money to keep the dojo. He'd asked Nabiki to loan him the money, promising he'd do anything to pay it back. Nabiki had refused, and in her defense, we all knew that he never would have paid her back; it was a pretty hefty sum. Ever since she'd learned how to earn money, Nabiki has been the breadwinner of the family, and she never got any credit for it. We would be out on the streets if it weren't for her, but Dad was so grief-stricken at the loss of the dojo that he has refused to talk to her since. Nabiki and I have kept touch with emails once or twice a month, but we weren't all that close. She did, after all, manage to get money from anyone and everyone, including family. And I really didn't have money to spare.  
  
"I know you're in there," Nabiki called through my door, banging on it again. "I can feel you wincing."  
  
I figured she just knew me too well. Although maybe it was a conditioned response in everyone she met, and she had become very attuned to it. Then again, maybe she really was telepathic, and that was the reason she knew everything. Whatever the reason was, it creeped me out.  
  
I sighed audibly and opened the door.  
  
"Jeez," she said. "You look like shit."  
  
Well, I always knew she was perceptive.  
  
"Gee, thanks. It's nice to see you, too."  
  
"Just being honest."  
  
"Man, that's a switch."  
  
She gave me a half-grin. "Touché."  
  
Nabiki, of course, looked like a mannequin without the Barbie element. Every brown hair in her classic no-nonsense bob was in place, although the hint of red in it was new. And she was in designer clothes from the clip in her hair down to her shoes. I grimaced in jealousy. How did she do it?  
  
"I brought breakfast," She said, holding up a bag from a local bakery. "You want a croissant or two?"  
  
Who cared how she did it? She was my savior! "Chocolate?" I asked hopefully, all green-eyed monsters fleeing before a rush of hunger.  
  
"Unless I got ripped off, and I never get ripped off."  
  
"Bless you," I said, bowing to her rather excessively. "Bless your children and their children."  
  
"I'm not going to have children. Do you know how much they cost?"  
  
Figures.  
  
She walked in and looked around. "Cute apartment for someone with no money."  
  
"How did you know I have no money?"  
  
"I can see it in your eyes."  
  
"That's downright freaky."  
  
"It's a God-given talent," Nabiki informed me as she went over to the table, still looking around. Actually, my apartment is pretty nice - especially compared to Japan, where houses and apartments are teeny-tiny. It is well-designed and tasteful, not to mention on the roomy side. Of course, it seemed even roomier now that I had pawned off most of my possessions to stay in it.  
  
I groaned and went over to sit at the table. Joey trotted out, doing his cute-starving-puppy impersonation. Nabiki grinned wide when she saw him. "You got a dog?"  
  
"I was lonely," I defended myself. "And when I went to the pound with my friend so she could pick up her cat, I couldn't leave him behind."  
  
He sure hadn't wanted to be left behind. My friend from a play I was working on at the time had been busy arguing about her cat with the pound people, who had decided to feed her cat to the point where it could be a hairy body-double for Jabba the Hut, so I'd wandered down to where the dogs were kept. Three workers were trying to feed a black Labrador puppy in a cage, but the puppy came streaking down the hall, leaving the workers falling helplessly over their own feet. Joey leapt up, planted both muddy feet on my new pants, and tried to give me a big lick.  
  
"Sorry," The first guy to reach my side said breathlessly. He yanked at Joey's collar, and the pup promptly locked his little legs and refused to budge.  
  
In the end, I'd given in to his tail wagging and hopeful eyes, and a few days later, when my apartment was okayed, got a partner in crime. He had been a stray before he came to the pound so the people there had named him; Joey was the term for 'baby kangaroo' and the name couldn't have fit him better.  
  
Hence, the dog. It had been a year and nine months, and he had yet to point out any of my faults. He was definitely the best roommate I ever had.  
  
"He's adorable," Nabiki gushed. "Can I give him a croissant?"  
  
"He's allergic to chocolate. All dogs are."  
  
"How does he live? You can't not eat chocolate."  
  
"Tell me about it," I said, grabbing a croissant.  
  
Joey perked his Dumbo-the-flying-elephant-sized ears forward and hit us with a cute attack, hoping to be rewarded with a pastry. That dog has no sense of nutrition at all.  
  
"Maybe I could just give him some dog food," Nabiki suggested. "At least that's something to eat."  
  
"Nuh-uh," I told her. "Joey will eat pretty much anything that fits in his mouth. You can give him some, but if you wanna give him a treat," I paused, mouth full, and gestured in the direction of the cupboard. "Give Joey some of that Cap'n Crunch."  
  
We finished breakfast in silence.  
  
"So," I began as I made quick work of the last crumbs of my second croissant. "Why are you here?"  
  
"What, I can't just drop by for a friendly visit?"  
  
"Who, you? Give me a break."  
  
"Well, I've decided to move to the U.S....and I need a place to stay. I figure I can pay a share of the rent if we stay here...and you do owe me a favor. I couldn't get you before because your phone got disconnected."  
  
Well, that was what happened when you didn't pay the bills.  
  
I figured I'd let her call in her favor, but she didn't have to. I'd do anything for the rent money, and that included letting my crazy sister stay with me.  
  
"Alright," I conceded. "But I get the bedroom. You sleep on the couch."  
  
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"By the way," Nabiki said as I helped her drag the last of her luggage into the apartment, "there's a presentation of ten-minute plays coming up soon around here and there will be talent scouts there..."  
  
"I know. I couldn't get a part in any of them. It was really competitive."  
  
"Well, I looked at them on my way over and there's one that they added last minute that I think you'd be...well equipped for. Emotionally."  
  
"Oh boy. What, is the character ready to kill herself?"  
  
"Oh, don't even joke about that. No, I just mean...well, see for yourself. I got you a copy."  
  
I sat down and looked at the title. "'After You?'" I asked her.  
  
"Ah, just read the play."  
  
I skimmed the first few lines. "So this is like...a couple is talking a year after they got divorced?"  
  
"Yeah, sort of. But I thought it worked for you..."  
  
"Why?"  
  
"Just read the goddamn play, willya?"  
  
So I did. And while the play was vague and related to me in no distinct way, I knew exactly what she was getting at. Lines jumped out at me, saying 'look, remember this feeling? Do you remember wanting to say this? Can you possibly have not forgotten these emotions..?'  
  
I hadn't forgotten.  
  
"This is about me," I said to her. "Me and Ranma."  
  
"First of all," Nabiki said with a smirk. "It's 'this is about Ranma and I,' not 'Me and Ranma.' And second, did I mention Ranma? Nooo. I did not bring up any of your past tales of love and woe, much less that chaos- inducing boy who left when you weren't yet eighteen. Did I?"  
  
"No..." Maybe I just never stopped thinking about him. He stuck in my mind that way.  
  
But the lines jumped out at me...  
  
[Don't begrudge me my jealousy. I like my jealousy. It keeps me close to you.]  
  
[I'll tell you about jealousy: I resent people who encounter you. Checkout clerks you hand money to. Waiters who bring your wine and french fries. Strangers who share your elevator and ride to your floor though it's five floors out of their way.]  
  
[You're the only one who ever did that.]  
  
[I resent Jehovah's Witnesses who come to your door. They get you without caution. They get you straight ahead.]  
  
[And you get?]  
  
[I get judgment and longing.]  
  
[Well, that's what's left...]  
  
"Is it?" I mused out loud.  
  
"I must have been beamed up," Nabiki said. "I just got a sentence from the other side."  
  
"If I saw Ranma again...would judgment and longing be the only things we had left?"  
  
Nabiki had no answer.  
  
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We got lunch at a local, inexpensive pizza place called Vace's - it was a tiny store that had no room for tables, just cabinets and counters overflowing with Italian food and garlic and spices hanging from the ceiling. It smelled like heaven, which was appropriate, because Vace's served pizza fit for the gods. We took our pizza to a nearby park area and relaxed on a wooden bench and watched Joey act like a dog.  
  
"So," Nabiki said to me with her mouth full. "You gonna try out?"  
  
I'd 'fessed up to her about my current money situation, and she'd agreed to pay this month's rent if I paid her back - with lots of interest. You can't teach an old dog new tricks, I suppose, but are tricks and bad habits the same thing?  
  
"Yeah." As I said, I would do anything for money. Even face my past.  
  
"Cool. Tryouts are this evening."  
  
I spit my pizza out in shock, and it was immediately gobbled up by Joey, who had been otherwise entertaining himself by sniffing trees, shrubs, rocks, sticks, every individual blade of grass, etc.  
  
"THIS EVENING? I won't have time to prepare! I can't be ready by this evening!"  
  
Nabiki shrugged, doing her ice queen thing. "You may as well try for it."  
  
Arrrrrrgh.  
  
---------------------------------------------------------------------------- -  
  
Actually, the tryout went well. I did a good job for someone with no practice. I got onstage, and this role was just so close to home that for a moment, I was somewhere between myself and my character; neither one completely, but with the essence of both. I felt, once again, like I was acting. I felt the way I had a few years ago when I had managed to get a lot of parts; like this was my thing, like I knew what I was doing.  
  
I could tell the director liked it, too. There's a reason directors are directors and not actors, I guess.  
  
But there it was. The chance, once again, to do what I loved and not whatever the wanted ads called for that week...  
  
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The call came that night at dinner. Nabiki and I were sitting at home, celebrating the wonder of groceries and a reconnected phone line - again, curtsey of my sister, who decided that she wanted food and couldn't live without a phone. Both of which were fine with me, especially since I didn't have to pay for it. Yet.  
  
We were leaning back, enjoying the fact that we were eating food that would have given us cause to sell the scale (if I had still had mine) when the phone rang. Nabiki dove to get it, which was completely unnecessary, because I had yet to touch the phone. She had gotten several business calls already, but I was expecting none, believing that the play company wouldn't call for a while.  
  
So when Nabiki, looking peeved, handed the phone to me, I was surprised.  
  
"Hello?"  
  
"Umm...Akane? Akane Tendo?"  
  
"Yeah, who's this?"  
  
"Uh, this is, um, Hikaru Gosunkugi. We, uh, went to high school together..."  
  
"Oh, yeah. Hey, Gosunkugi." What was I supposed to say? I hadn't seen the short, creepy-eyed little guy in seven years. "How have you been?"  
  
"Uh, I'm, um, good. I'm working for this play company and you tried out? And we want to use you for the part of, uh, Amy. You know, in 'After You,' if you're still interested."  
  
I made a fist and drove it toward the ceiling in the United Nations Universal Symbol of 'YES!' I attempted to keep my emotions under wraps in my tone of voice, though. I mean, I'm an actress, right?  
  
"Yeah, that's great."  
  
"All right. Can you come tomorrow? And we can get your size for the costume and get the practice schedule..."  
  
I pretended to consider, while in truth my life stretched long and empty until my death, pretty much. Because with this, I could probably cancel the appointment to get my knees broken by the bill collectors. Or at least put it off.  
  
"See you tomorrow."  
  
"Ja ne." I hung up.  
  
"What's up?" Nabiki asked, mouth full. "It took the little dude seven more years to work up the guts to ask you out?"  
  
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"AKANE! Hey, Akane Tendo!"  
  
I paused from talking to the costume designer to see who was yelling my name - it wasn't the director, for once, who made up for his remarkably short stature with a remarkably loud voice. He seemed to run and shout constantly and wind up accomplishing nothing. But hey, what do I know about directing?  
  
When I turned, I saw a sandy-haired man with a mustache racing up to me. He certainly wasn't in the play or on any of the crews that I knew of. I had no idea how this man knew my name, because I certainly had no living clue who the hell he was.  
  
"Do I know you...?"  
  
"We went to high school together. C'mon, you gotta remember me; I practically hero-worshipped that fiancé of yours. Man, it was a bummer that you two split. You woulda made a really great couple."  
  
He was telling me! But at least now I remembered him. Hiroshi certainly had been one of the few boys at school who had taken to hanging with Ranma rather than plotting his death.  
  
What was it with this play and all these Ranma-remembrances anyway?  
  
"Yo, Hiroshi. I didn't recognize you."  
  
"No shit. I didn't recognize you either until I saw the program. You a big shot actress now?"  
  
"Actually, this is the first job I've had in awhile. I'm not having much luck with the whole follow-your-dream scheme."  
  
"Tell me about it. I thought that by now I'd be a major hotshot reporter, but all I get is little shit like this play thing. No offense."  
  
"None taken."  
  
"But..." he paused, looked around. I thought at first that he was trying to make sure no one else was there to pick up on the scoop I assumed he was about to tell me about, but on closer inspection it looked more like the careful glance of someone who was afraid that someone would be willing to use a bullet to keep him quiet about whatever he had found out. Now that I was looking closely, his skin was pale and he was sweating despite the cold weather. "I got a big scoop. I just need proof, and then I'm gonna nail it. The big newspapers will be fighting over who gets me as an investigative journalist."  
  
"Yeah, and this play is gonna win me an Oscar."  
  
"I'm serious!"  
  
"H-hey, Akane..."  
  
Hiroshi and I both nearly jumped out of our skin. Gosunkugi was right next to me all of a sudden; neither of us had noticed him come up beside us.  
  
"Gos!" Hiroshi said with faux enthusiasm. "Man, this is like a mini reunion. We got the little Furikan shindig right here!"  
  
"Um, yeah..."  
  
"Welp," Hiroshi said, "I gotta go. You wanna give me your number or something, Akane? This isn't high school, I'm not gonna incessantly push myself on you, but it might be fun to catch up, you know? Talk about the old days. No one in this freakin' gaijin country believes any of them crazy old school stories."  
  
I grinned. Hiroshi had been one of the few people at Furinkan who had tried to push Ranma and I together rather than break us apart. It really would be nice to have someone who I could really talk to about the old days. "Yeah, sure."  
  
I wrote my phone number down on a post-it note and handed it to him with a grin. He smiled back at me; then, looking somewhat uncomfortable, opened his mouth and asked the question I had been expecting the whole time, and dreading.  
  
"Hey, have you talked to him?"  
  
"Who?" I asked, feigning ignorance.  
  
"You could be the best actress in the world and still not fool me into thinking you don't know who I'm talking about."  
  
"Oh...you mean Ranma...?" I asked, pretending that the idea was just dawning on me.  
  
"Does the word 'duh' mean anything to you?"  
  
"No."  
  
He gave me a look that told me I must have been inhabiting another solar system for the past ten years. "No? Well, it's like this thing that means something is really obvious - "  
  
"No, I mean that no, I haven't heard from him. I know what 'duh' means, baka."  
  
"Not at all...?"  
  
"No."  
  
"Man," he said, sounding disappointed, "That's just freakin' crazy. You two were - "  
  
"Ahem," Gos coughed, attempting to get us to focus on the fact that he was still there.  
  
"Well," Hiroshi said, "I better beat it. I'll talk to you later, guys."  
  
"Ja," Gos and I chorused after him.  
  
"TENDO!" The director bellowed in my ear. "GET ON THE SET!"  
  
---------------------------------------------------------------------------  
  
It was two in the morning when I got the call. I was closest to the phone, as Nabiki had somehow managed to wrangle getting the bed for herself and I was stuck on the couch.  
  
I didn't bother with a hello; people who call you at 2 a.m. either have no manners and thus one should respond in kind, or there is some form of emergency and they don't have time for your classic small talk. "This had better be good."  
  
"Akane," Hiroshi's voice was strained and barely above a whisper. "I have to talk to you."  
  
"Can't this wait till morning?"  
  
"No! I'm freaked, Akane. Someone's after me."  
  
"And you know this because...?"  
  
"Someone just shot in my window. I figured that someone had been following me today, but then I told myself it was just paranoia. The bullets kinda convinced me otherwise."  
  
"Call the police!"  
  
"I can't. I think my phone line is tapped. Please, Akane. I gotta tell you about this in case the next time they don't miss. Meet me inside the theater in twenty minutes. I should get there before you. I'll pick the lock and let you in." And he hung up.  
  
As I raced toward the theater, I wondered if this wasn't in fact an elaborate prank or joke on Hiroshi's part. But he'd sounded so freaked that I couldn't bring myself to ignore the possibility that this was dead serious. The key word being dead.  
  
When I got to the back entrance, I discovered someone had indeed picked the lock. The door was left open, however. I raised an eyebrow at this; someone in fear of their life wouldn't be that careless, would they?  
  
Hiroshi was leaning against the far wall in a darkened corner.  
  
"Hiroshi!" I hissed. "What the hell - "  
  
I stepped toward him, and when I was about two feet away, my flip-flop landed in something warm and wet.  
  
This led to your classic scene: I already knew what I had stepped in, but I froze and slowly looked down anyway, hoping that I had simply seen too many horror movies. Hey, maybe this was a joke. Maybe the stuff at my feet was just the fake version we used in 'After You'...  
  
I looked at Hiroshi and all hope of that was lost. He stared at me glassy- eyed, slack-jawed, and utterly dead.  
  
So there I was, at 2:30 in the morning, hanging with a guy who'd just been offed (the giveaway would have to be the large bullet hole in his chest) getting my socks all soaked in blood - which would be a pain to get out. And it was December! Why the hell was I wearing flip-flops, anyway?  
  
----------------------------------------------------------------------------  
  
It was seven or so before I got away from the police questioners. Their only two leads, though, were me and Gosunkugi, who had shown up five minutes after me because Hiroshi had set off the alarm when he broke into the theater, and Gos had been dispatched by his superiors to see what was going on. It was Gosunkugi who had called the police, after, of course, he finished throwing up all over the crime scene. I had just stood there like...well, like I was dead, for lack of a better example.  
  
The murder weapon had been found in the set, but there were no prints on it at all. No witnesses. Hiroshi hadn't even told me anything about this big story, so I had no clue who or what he was investigating. I wanted to let it drop, but I couldn't bring myself to leave this open. Whatever it was Hiroshi had found out, it had been worth killing to keep it a secret.  
  
What was going on?  
  
Nabiki was pacing when I got back to the apartment. "Where have you been? Did you get breakfast? Why is there blood on your shoes?"  
  
I sat her down and told her everything. I had been thankful before that she was here because of rent money, but now what I needed was a sister. I burst into tears for the first time since I had found the body.  
  
"I don't know what to do," I sobbed as I finished the story. "I have to find out what is going on, but I have no idea about these things. You do. Where should I start?"  
  
"You shouldn't. Don't get involved in this, Akane. You'll wind up like Hiroshi."  
  
Nausea rolled through my stomach at the thought, but she and I both knew that I wasn't going to quit.  
  
"I can't. My friend is dead, Nabiki. Did you somehow miss that little detail? And he said his phone might be tapped. They might be after me already."  
  
"After You?" Nabiki joked.  
  
"This isn't funny!"  
  
"Alright, alright," Nabiki said. "But I can't really help you. Homicide isn't really my genre, you know?"  
  
"But - !"  
  
"Relax, Akane. Just because I'm not an expert at this doesn't mean I don't know anyone who is." She turned, picked up the phone, and dialed a number. After waiting a minute, she swore and put down the phone. Picking it up again, she dialed another number with the same result. "He's not at home. He's not answering his cell. Where the hell is he?"  
  
Apparently, the third number - which Nabiki told me was the car phone - got through. "Yo," Nabiki said. "My little sister and I need your help. She's kinda gotten herself involved in a homicide."  
  
Something was said at the other end of the line.  
  
"No," Nabiki yelled in the phone, "She didn't kill him! But I need your help, alright? We have to figure this out. Can you come to our apartment?" She gave the person on the other end the apartment address and hung up.  
  
"Who was that?" I asked.  
  
Nabiki grinned.  
  
----------------------------------------------------------------------------  
  
Half an hour later we were finishing breakfast when I heard footsteps in my apartment. I couldn't see the door from the kitchen, but I suspected that someone had broken in. That in and of itself was amazing - I had locked, chained and bolted the door.  
  
"Someone's in the apartment," I whispered to Nabiki.  
  
"Yeah, I know," she replied, not bothering to lower her voice. "It's really annoying. There is no door lock in the world that stops that guy. I'm starting to think that he just slides under the doorjamb, 'cause the locks are always still in place."  
  
At which point the intruder strode into the kitchen.  
  
The intruder whom I recognized in an instant.  
  
The intruder who had haunted my dreams and plagued my thoughts ever since I met him more than nine years before.  
  
Looking back, you can't really say that it was entirely my fault. I mean, Nabiki really should have warned me. Given the situation, I actually handled myself with some semblance of control.  
  
Although you may hold the dish I threw at him against me and my claims of self-restraint, I suppose.  
  
"You BASTARD!"  
  
"Does this mean," Ranma asked innocently, "that I don't get breakfast?"  
  
----------------------------------------------------------------------------  
  
End of Chapter 1! PLEASE Review or email me at: nakigoe_chan@hotmail.com  
  
IN CHAPTER 2: TWO FOR THE DOUGH:  
  
Ranma and Akane have a long conversation and resolve some issues of their past relationship - and, of course, eventually wind up arguing. Gosunkugi comes up with a suspect that seems to be the most likely candidate.  
  
Originally, as already said, this was planned as a one-shot that was just romance/angst, Ranma/Akane, yadda yadda yadda. But then I started reading Janet Evanovich books (yes, the chapter titles are the titles of her Stephanie Plum books), and hence it turned into this huge murder mystery. I'll warn you beforehand I've never written one of those complicated mysteries, but I've certainly read a lot, so I figured I'd give this a try.  
  
Thanks to:  
  
My prereaders: Lauren, Alissa, Diana, and now Natalia (known to those of fanfiction.net as nm3, author of various stories, including 'Beyond.') You guys are great!  
  
And a final thanks out to all my anime buds that are willing to share in my obsession and even sometimes read my stuff! (Hah! Fools!): Lauren (again), Yueling, Julie, Whitney, Gaby, the sophomore crew (you know who you are), the college crew (if you don't know who you are, you shouldn't have made it to college) and the various pets and family members who I can no longer tell apart, but who put up with me and who I put up with in general (no small task, for all of us).  
  
Chapter Two is already done and being edited! Look for it soon!  
  
Ja ne!  
  
~ nakigoe-chan 


	2. Two for the Dough

Author's Notes:  
  
First of all, sorry this took so long. We had a little email crisis here at nakigoe-chan's lair, and then I got horribly, disgustingly sick. Hundred and three, coughing up yellow gunk. Really gross. And a prereader of mine who lives in a different time zone got sick at the exact same time, so we sort of sat around IMing each other, comparing clock and thermometer readings and just procrastinating in general. So that's basically why.  
  
Okay, I promise this next paragraph won't gross you out.  
  
I have gotten a few requests from people who want to be notified when a new chapter of AY comes out. So I am going to have a MAILING LIST, so if you want to get announcements and SNEAK PEEKS AT THE NEXT CHAPTER, either say so in a review or email me at nakigoe_chan@hotmail.com.  
  
Thanks out to my prereaders: Lauren, Alissa, Diana, Natalia, and now Greg! You guys are fantastic, and hold the enormous responsibility (and credit) for keeping this fic readable.  
  
-----------------  
  
AFTER YOU  
  
Chapter 2: Two for the Dough  
  
By: nakigoe-chan  
  
-----------------  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
Uh oh. You been reading those Nancy Drew books again?  
  
- Ranger, Janet Evanovich's Two for the Dough  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
Ranma Saotome had left my life when I was seventeen, leaving me with nothing but my own self-doubt and an utterly broken heart. Eight years later, he had broken into my apartment, and he wanted breakfast?  
  
I felt like there had been a traffic accident in my head. Everything was mayhem and confusion. A million thoughts backed up in my brain with nowhere to go, all honking at each other incessantly, none willing to back up and try to return to an order in which any of them could actually get anywhere.  
  
Expect delays.  
  
My mind went numb. The anger was still there, of course; anger has always been the emotion that I am the most comfortable dealing with.  
  
But there was other stuff there, too; things like 'he's back in my life – maybe we can actually get to know each other, not like we did when we were kids,' and 'holy shit, he's hot.' Yes, I will admit it: I had no idea whether or not I still loved him (after all, I should have gotten over him years ago, right?) but this older Ranma, this 26-year-old Ranma, was the personification of lust. Maybe it was the badass attire. Maybe it was the body – he was all lean muscle, as he'd always been, but he was taller and more broad-shouldered, his hair in a ponytail, rather than a pigtail, hanging halfway down his back. Maybe it was those damn blue-gray eyes, the eyes that had, in youth, always held emotion, the way they did now – dancing with an anticipative, mischievous delight.  
  
"You broke my dish," was the only thing my traitorous mouth would say, despite the fact that my mind wanted to say so much more.  
  
The corners of his mouth turned up in a tiny smile. "You broke it, tomboy."  
  
Okay, *technically* that was true. But it was still his fault, right? Everything was always his fault. I realized the generalization I had made in an instant – realized that I had always done it since the day I met him. If I hadn't, would we have gotten along better? Probably. Would he have stayed? Probably. If he'd been here from the beginning, would Hiroshi have lived? Probably. All because I always blamed him for whatever went wrong.  
  
Take an insecure, starving woman, add a long-lost love, a murder, and no sleep all in the same day (for extra spice, add the fact that one of her three remaining dishes was lying on the floor in tiny, razor-edged pieces creating a foot hazard). Mix well, and get a sure-fire elixir for embarrassing hysteria.  
  
Ranma's face vanished from my vision behind an explosion of tears. I had never felt so humiliated. The moment he had walked through my door I had made a resolution to myself not to cry, and here I was making an idiot of myself not thirty seconds later.  
  
I felt a warm hand on my back and looked up. Not that it did any good, as I was still blinded by tears, but nonetheless that was my first reaction. The hand on my back was a male hand – Ranma. I hissed at him and glared through my clearing eyes, a warning to back off. I was trying to calm down, and having his hand on my back was going to do nothing for that front. The hand was removed, and I was instantly sorry. Having Ranma nearby had always made me feel safe, but the reaction to keep him away was instinctive.  
  
His voice was soft, low, and serious. "I'm sorry I called you a tomboy. And I'm sorry I broke your dish." Was this really Ranma? This person was *apologizing.* It couldn't really be him. But then again, he *had* called me 'tomboy.'  
  
"It's not your fault. It's mine. Everything was always my fault."  
  
"I'll be going now," the already-forgotten Nabiki said. Neither of us noticed her exit.  
  
"Surely that's an overstatement," Ranma said. I could hear the smile in his voice - not the arrogant one that was so common, but the soft one he reserved only for me when I was totally miserable.  
  
"It's my fault you left..."  
  
Wait a second. Did I actually say that? He would know I cared. Crap.  
  
His face was becoming clearer as he guided me to the couch and sat me down, then took the place next to me. He leaned down slightly to peer into my eyes. "I left for a lot of reasons."  
  
"Bullshit."  
  
An eyebrow arched, a grin played with his mouth. "Oh?"  
  
"I followed you home that day. I heard you talking to my dad. You left because of me, and we both know it."  
  
His gaze left my face and traveled around the room, settling on the far wall as he leaned back against the old couch. I was quavering inside. I had no idea how he'd take this. "I knew you were there," he finally said.  
  
I gaped. I hadn't expected *that.* "You did not!"  
  
"Akane," he sighed, "I'm a martial artist with an overdeveloped sense to ki. I could feel your aura. I could sense you following me."  
  
"Why didn't you say something? You couldn't've wanted me there."  
  
He closed his eyes. "But I *did* want you there, Akane."  
  
I was more confused than ever, and was starting to get a little premonition of doom. Like, was that some kind of test..?  
  
"Why?"  
  
"Just in case."  
  
"In case what? In case Dad decided he wanted your head on a stick, I could jump in and say, 'hell, dad, let him get the heck outta here?'"  
  
"In case," he answered softly, "You wanted to keep me from leaving. The way I saw it, the chances were good that you wanted me out of your life. But I wasn't positive. I had no idea that day whether I would be leaving or not. It all came down to whether or not you cared enough to stop me. If you had wanted me to stay, there was no way I could've brought myself to leave."  
  
I was immobile. I had no idea what I could say or do, except state the obvious. "That wasn't fair, Ranma." I whispered. He started slightly; maybe because it was the first time I'd said his name since he'd walked in. Who knew? All the same, I felt horribly cheated. If I'd known...but it's never healthy to dwell on the past, is it? Of course, it's impossible not to.  
  
"Life isn't fair, Akane."  
  
"Yeah," I muttered bitterly. "You can say that. You've always been dealt all the winning cards." I knew this was untrue, but it popped out anyway. I was still so jealous of everything he had - the looks, the admirers, the unmatchable skill in martial arts.  
  
He sighed. "I did get some good cards. But I also had the worst ones. I got people trying to kill me, balanced out by martial arts. I got the curse, balanced out by what I learned from it about others and myself, because it was such an ideal disguise. I got all the crazy fiancees, and I got y - " He cut himself off, realizing what we both knew he'd almost said. "My life hasn't been fair either, Akane. I practically starved growing up. You can look at all my advantages and weigh them against your disadvantages, but that's not really fair either, is it?"  
  
"No," I countered, "but you proved my point anyway. You *did* leave because of me."  
  
"Maybe I did." He admitted. "But how much longer do you think I could have taken it anyway? What with all the fiancees, all the death threats, all the challenges, all the...Happosai."  
  
I laughed, he grinned. He'd probably done that on purpose, but it felt good to laugh, and I was still not entirely in control of myself. "He missed you," I told him.  
  
"Happosai?" Ranma said, incredulous. "He never!"  
  
"He did," I confirmed, giggling. "He spent a week moping about the house, going 'Oh, where has my beloved Ranma-chan goooooooooooone? Ranma-chan, welcome this poor old man once again into your bosom!'"  
  
Both of us looked at each other and burst out laughing. I had never seen him laugh like that, I realized. A genuine laugh, rather than an I'm- superior laugh or a someone-just-made-an-idiot-of-themselves laugh. It almost made me forget, I thought happily, that Hiroshi was –  
  
Dead.  
  
I'd been laughing my head off, and Hiroshi was dead.  
  
The shock of having Ranma once again in my life had been enough to make me forget the reason he was here. He hadn't come to see me; he'd come to find out about the murder.  
  
"Akane?" Ranma asked. He'd stopped laughing at the first look of horror on my face, and now, despite all the sensible protests in my head, I buried my face in his chest and wept. These were once again the huge, choking sobs I had succumbed to when he'd come in the room, but this time his arms came around me and I was immensely comforted by it. It made me cry harder, but the tears were starting to heal something. My head was in turmoil again – I'd almost gone into shock at seeing the body, and I had had no idea at the time just how traumatized it had left me. I was going to chew Nabiki out for bringing Ranma here now of all times, and then I was going to owe her for it for the rest of her life. Or for the rest of mine, which would probably be a significantly shorter length of time. But all thoughts of Nabiki aside, Ranma was here. Here, with me.  
  
So everything would be all right. Chaotic as he was, Ranma always found a way to make things right.  
  
My tears finally stopped.  
  
"I'm sorry," I whispered into his shirt.  
  
"For what?"  
  
I leaned back and finally got the courage up to meet his stare. "I forgot. You know, I forgot why you're really here. The murder."  
  
He leaned back, his arms dropping to his sides. Dammit. He could have left them where they were, thank you very much.  
  
"Right," he said. Heh, I thought. Guess I'm not the only one who forgot what was supposed to be going on. That always happened with us – we would forget our surroundings and just go on impulse. This often started fights, but occasionally it would stop them. Maybe this is an instinctive martial artist thing. Then again, maybe it's just a me and Ranma thing.  
  
Suddenly, he was all business. "So," he said, "who was murdered? How were they murdered? How do you know the victim? Who do you suspect? Why do you suspect them? When-"  
  
"Ranma! Slow down!"  
  
"Sorry," he said, running a hand through his hair. "I'm just...it's too much at once, you know? I mean, seeing you again is weird enough, but you've gotten yourself involved in a murder...Kusho. Akane, don't you know how dangerous this kinda shit is?!"  
  
"I've never been involved in a murder before! I've never even known anyone who was killed by force before!"  
  
Ranma's face shifted into a carefully expressionless mask. "You haven't?"  
  
"No!"  
  
"Then let me tell you something about people who have killed."  
  
"They kill people?" I asked innocently, laying on the sarcasm.  
  
Ranma ignored me. "There are different kinds of people who are capable of looking into another person's eyes and knowing that they will be the one to end that life. First, you have the crazies. These are rare. People who go so off the wall that the only one they see as more than an animal is themselves. They kill because they enjoy it, and enjoy the fact that they're capable of it. Second, you have those who are desperate - who have pulled some sort of grand crime, most often, and kill one or two people to cover it up, then find that more and more death needs to be wrought out because they panic at the possibility that someone knows something. They quickly discover that respect for life dwindles and dies with every murder, and it becomes easy for them to kill more. Third are those who have never had a real respect for life, and simply kill with a professional detachment. Fourth are those whose lifestyles force them to make decisions about who will live and who will die. These are usually people in the law enforcement field. They may find themselves in a situation where the only way to save an innocent is to kill the threat."  
  
I paused, thought that over slowly. Some of the ideas scared me - that a person could lose there respect for life, that someone could become *addicted* to killing. But there was something else that scared me more than anything else: Ranma had given me this whole speech with the voice of experience. But he hadn't. He couldn't have...  
  
"Ranma," I said softly, "have you killed someone before?"  
  
He was a long while in answering. As if he could tell me the truth, or he could lie, and both were equally unappealing. "Yes."  
  
I didn't want to know anymore. I really didn't. But my treacherous mouth was out to get me in trouble again.  
  
"Who? Why?"  
  
"I don't want to talk about it." The tone of his voice ended the conversation.  
  
"Oh," I whispered. What else could I say?  
  
"But now," he continued, "you've gotten yourself in deep trouble, yet again. I need you to tell me everything, even if it seems insignificant. Maybe then we can fix it up so that *you* don't get dead, ne?"  
  
Out of the mouth of a killer.  
  
I had no answer. My thoughts seemed to be seeping out of my head just as I was trying to gather them together. No matter how hard I tried to sort things out, my thinking rate had dropped to the point of someone trying to walk through molasses. I just stared at him.  
  
Ranma had murdered someone. The possibility that it had been some sort of duty was not really a consideration. Ranma wouldn't work for the law, because Ranma *ignored* the law. It had probably been some sort of martial arts accident – like he had overestimated an opponent and the unlucky rival had wound up dead.  
  
"Can you come back in, like, half an hour?" I managed. "I think I need to take a shower and get dressed."  
  
Ranma raised his eyebrows. His expression said, 'someone you know has been murdered, and your solution is Bath & Body Works?'  
  
"I have blood on my flip-flops," I explained.  
  
He looked down at my feet and then back up at my face. I couldn't help wondering if it had been a once-over or just an inspection of my footwear. "Ah," he said. Then he gave me a small smile and sauntered out the door.  
  
I collapsed to the floor in bewildered tears.  
  
"Akane?" Nabiki burst in from the next room, where she had probably been eavesdropping. "Akane, what's wrong? Where's Ranma?"  
  
"Nabiki," I gasped through my sobs, "he *killed* someone. Did you know that? How could he do that? Why - " I stopped at the shocked look on Nabiki's face.  
  
"You mean to tell me," Nabiki said, "that you don't even *know?*"  
  
"Know what?"  
  
"Akane...the person he killed...it happened while he was still in Nerima. Well, he wasn't *in* Nerima at the time, but you know...while he was with us. He didn't have a choice. Any of us would have done the same thing, if we were in the situation."  
  
"You've *got* to be kidding me! What reason could he have possibly had to - "  
  
"Akane," Nabiki was not, I was surprised to note, using her patronizing voice. It was soft and calm. "Have you spent all this time thinking that Saffron just said, 'What the hell, you win?' Akane, Ranma killed SAFFRON, and he did it because it was the only way to save YOU."  
  
I had thought that it would be impossible to make me feel any more lost and frightened than I already was. I should have remembered the old rule of Ranmaworld - no matter how bad things were, they could always get worse.  
  
Ranma had spent his life trying to protect people. He had dedicated his existence to defending anyone weaker than he was, which wound up being everyone. Ranma was one of those rare people who took the burden of that kind of justice upon his own shoulders. It was his life, or the thing he'd wrapped his life around. The promise he'd made to his own soul.  
  
I'd made him break it.  
  
Was that love? Did he do that because he'd loved me? How incredibly silly, that the one who you cared about most could shatter who you were. How painfully stupid.  
  
I had destroyed a part of him - a significant, special part; a part that, much as I'd protested, I'd adored - and I hadn't found out about it until more than eight years too late.  
  
"Akane," Nabiki said, "maybe you should change before Ranma gets back. I don't know if you've realized this, but you have blood on your flip-flops. And you're still in your pajamas. C'mon, little sister, let's pull it together."  
  
I stumbled to the bathroom, kicked of my flip-flops, pulled off my PJs, paused, turned around, and threw up very neatly in the toilet.  
  
----------------------------------------------------------------------  
  
I am rather proud to report, actually, that upon his return 45 minutes later Ranma was practically rendered speechless. By none other than yours truly, the uncute tomboy, I might add.  
  
Doubtless the PJs and bloody flip-flops, combined with the bed head and no- sleep thing, did nothing for a good first impression after eight years. However, due to the fact that my first encounter had me looking horrendous and him looking drop-dead gorgeous, I was determined to live up to the challenge that I'd unconsciously set for myself. He could still take my breath away. Fine. But this time, I was sure as hell going to make sure that he was just as winded as I was.  
  
The shower helped a lot. I turned the water almost as hot as it would go, and just stood there for ten minutes, doing the non-existing brain thing. No thinking, I told myself firmly. Such is the way to another mental overload.  
  
Out of the shower, I attacked my hair with various tools mankind has been so thoughtful as to develop to drive women insane. I no longer wore the short hairdo I'd sported in high school - my hair now stopped a little past my shoulders. Done with my hairdryer, I pulled the stray strands of hair away from my face and put in a few simple little clips to keep it out of my way. This led to an attack on my wardrobe, and I finally settled on a pale violet scoop-neck baby tee and some form-fitting black jeans. I turned to the mirror, swiped a little makeup on, and stood back to analyze the total effect. Not bad, I thought, with that gleeful little feeling that told me Ranma might think it was a whole lot better than just 'not bad.' I waltzed into the kitchen to find some breakfast and a note from Nabiki.  
  
Akane –  
  
Your crazy dog is with me – I have a client who happens to be obsessed with dogs (he has five) and having Joey along may help me seal this deal. People are stupid, aren't they? An animal with an IQ of 2 is going to help me with a $100,000 deal. Anyway, Joey and I bonded in the bedroom (is there a way to make him stop licking you?) while you were having your whatever you call it going on in the living room. He actually is pretty cute, though excessively hyper to the point that I may want to buy an elephant tranquilizer.  
  
Due to your morning murder/old beau hysterics, I am already late for a business meeting (thank you very much), and so must abandon you and Ranma to your little conquer-the-bad-guys shtick. Not really my thing anyway; I might get blood on my clothes. And hey, without me around, you may get a little action later on, hmmm? Your facial expression certainly indicated interest, but if you don't get yourself cleaned up you may not get far. In case you have sufficiently managed to recapture his attention, I'll pick up some birth control on the way home.  
  
I blushed bright red and threw the note in the trash, then turned my complete attention to breakfast.  
  
Ranma sauntered back in a few minutes later to find me sitting comfortably cross-legged on the couch. But when I looked up and grinned at him, he froze in his tracks and his eyes widened. I watched with vast amounts of amusement - none of which showed through my innocent smile - as his mouth opened and closed once without making a sound. Then he gave a little laugh, almost imperceptible, and shook his head with disbelief. "So," he grinned, "Now that you are no longer wearing bloody flip-flops, are you ready to get started?"  
  
----------------------------------------------------------------------  
  
The story actually didn't take long, and would have taken even less time had I not had to keep going back and putting in elements that I'd forgotten to say. Thus the story came out as bits and pieces of a puzzle that I then had to go back and put together in order to show the picture intended.  
  
As soon as he'd heard the name of the victim, Ranma's face had become a mask. The mask that he'd never mastered in his teens - the mask that had nearly cost dad the dojo to the Gambling King in my teen years because of its ineffectiveness - he had honed to become the perfect poker face. I wasn't even sure he'd heard anything after that until I finished my story and he started asking questions in a voice so calm and flat that it made the look on his face seem expressive and open.  
  
I wondered how he felt about it. Hiroshi had been his best friend at Furinkan, but they still hadn't been particularly close. Still, it must have meant a lot to Ranma to have a friend who accepted him, while most of the other boys plotted his death. Ranma had entered Furinkan with no experience at all of what it was like to really have a friend, unless you counted Ukyo when they were five or Ryouga and his friendly death threats. He had come into a world that he had little experience in and said, hey, this is me. Hiroshi and his sidekick Daisuke were the only two who accepted Ranma for Ranma. Everyone else in the world seemed to want him to conform to what *they* wanted him to become, which was usually engaged or expired. Hiroshi was one of the few who only wanted to be a little more like him. I felt a little warmer inside - I hadn't known Hiroshi well at all, but as I gained perspective, the dead boy's face came into clearer focus. I was overwhelmed with grief; I wanted to turn back the clock and thank the man I'd never cared to know for befriending a boy I'd been too afraid to try and get close to.  
  
"Akane?"  
  
Ranma's voice snapped me back to reality.  
  
"Huh?"  
  
His face was still blank, but his voice was softer, concerned. What had I ever done, I wondered, to have someone so incredible as the man sitting next to me – man, now, no longer boy – care about me so much? "You seemed...lost, there, for a sec."  
  
"I was just...thinking...about stuff." Agh! I sounded so lame.  
  
"I think," Ranma said, "We should check out the crime scene again. See if we can turn up anything."  
  
"The cops already did that."  
  
"Cops are too restrictive. Too many rules. There's a reason I never became one." He smiled softly. "I have the edge of experience. They might arrest criminals, but I know how said criminals think a lot better than the cops do. Not only that, but I have the benefit of having known you and Hiroshi personally. Knowing the characteristics of key players – even the stuff that seems stupid and insignificant – can actually help a lot."  
  
I hesitated.  
  
"Akane," he said, "if your uncomfortable with this, you don't have to come. I can understand your unwillingness to face that place again. But it may help a lot to have you there. And..." he paused, "I would feel a lot more comfortable if you were nearby, if I could come if you needed me or got in trouble."  
  
My anger was always close at hand. "What, you think I can't take care of myself?! You think I'm a weak little girl? I still practice my martial arts, and I've gotten better! This is so typical of you - "  
  
"That's not it!" He snapped back, his voice suddenly like the crack of a whip. "A kick isn't the same as a bullet, Akane! And no matter what, you still aren't in my league. Talk about *typical* - you still think you're invulnerable, and you dive right into a situation without even thinking! And guess who has to bail you out of it – again? And what's 'so typical of me,' Akane? You don't even *know* me! You barely got to know me – really *know* me – in Nerima, and that person, that Ranma – there's nothing left of him! You never really knew who I was then, and you most certainly don't have the *faintest* clue now!"  
  
I was shouting now, knowing I was being immature and not really caring. Why did he *always* have this effect on me? "And *you're* still an egomaniac – no one in the world can live up to the great Ranma Saotome, is that it? You should know that *I* never wanted your help! Nabiki called you, but frankly, I would do just fine if you left *right now*!" I strode to the door and wrenched it open so hard that it slammed against the wall.  
  
Ranma appraised my furious glare for what seemed an eternity. Finally he picked up his leather jacket and walked to the door, pausing in front of me, his face inches from mine. "Forgive me," he hissed, "for not wanting you to get yourself killed." With that he grabbed the door handle and slammed the door shut behind him, leaving me alone in my apartment.  
  
No, a little voice inside me shuddered with fear and longing. No, no, no, no...  
  
Wait, I thought, I know this voice…  
  
Like a long-forgotten memory – hey, it *was* a long-forgotten memory – the little voice that had had faith in Ranma when we were teens had resurfaced. I had never listened to it before.  
  
But that was before.  
  
I raced to the window to see Ranma getting into a car down in my parking lot. I couldn't tell what make, just that it was black and looked shiny and new and expensive.  
  
"RANMA!" I yelled. "WAIT!"  
  
He looked up at me.  
  
"Um...could you come back up?" I could see all the people in my neighboring apartments peering out at us like we were tap dancing naked on car roofs. "I want to talk to you." In private.  
  
"I thought you didn't need or want my help?" He yelled back.  
  
"I have no idea what's going on, Ranma, and you have a much better chance of figuring it out. I'm sorry I got mad, and in all honesty, both of us need to put a reign on our immaturity. Both of us know that you're going to work on this case anyway, and I don't really have a choice. We'll make a lot more progress if we work together. Someone's been murdered, so I think we should refrain drawing power lines until I am no longer in danger of being shot."  
  
"You hang with me, Akane, and you're going to get shot at a helluva lot. Just because I'm not a cop doesn't mean I don't work in law enforcement – and in a branch that is far less tame then your friendly crossing guard."  
  
"But you won't let anything happen to me."  
  
"I seem to recall you disapproving of the bodyguard thing. Wasn't that what started this fight?"  
  
"I want you to respect me."  
  
Even from up on my balcony I could see that he sighed. "I *do* respect you. I always have. Even if I *really* didn't act like it."  
  
"Could we please have this chat in private? I think we're disturbing my neighbors."  
  
Yeah, right – they were all leaning out their windows, hanging onto every word. As if to validate this, the ninety something guy in the apartment above mine yelled, "Are you kidding? You can't pay for this kind of entertainment! We needed something interesting to happen around here."  
  
Ranma grinned up at me. "Maybe I should come back up. Unless you'd like to wait for someone to get their camcorder."  
  
"Too late!" The retired couple in the apartment two to the left and one floor down hollered gleefully.  
  
Ranma shook his head. "Oh, brother."  
  
----------------------------------------------------------------------  
  
Ranma did come back up, but his return served no real purpose, as I promptly got into my jacket and accompanied him downstairs again. The cold had come early this winter - our feet crunched through frost as we made our way across the parking lot to his car. Walking beside Ranma made me feel warm, and safer then I had felt in a very long time. It also made me feel special, which made me scowl mentally. Did he always have to have this affect on me? Was this something involuntary, something he was never conscious of, or was it a planned trait?  
  
It was making me feel wonderful, so it was pissing me off. Good God, I thought, I'm so weird.  
  
I realized that Ranma was no longer beside me; I'd been lost in thought and had passed right by his car. Blushing, I backtracked until I realized what kind of car it was.  
  
I had briefly dated a speed demon a few years ago, and now in front of me was the car that he'd ogled but had never been able to afford: it was hard to come by and very expensive.  
  
I was staring at a black formula F512M, 12 cylinder, maximum horsepower 432 bhp, maximum speed 196 mph. It was an incredible racing car, awesome looking, and fit this new Ranma exactly.  
  
"Your car?" I asked. Yeah, as if anyone else could live up to the coolness factor needed to drive this car.  
  
Ranma smiled. "I've been doing pretty well," he told me, as I slid into the passenger seat next to him, feeling like Batgirl in this car.  
  
Massive understatement, from what I could tell.  
  
"What exactly *have* you been doing?"  
  
"Various stuff."  
  
"'Various stuff' gets you a car like this?"  
  
"Mostly I do bond enforcement."  
  
"Huh?"  
  
"I'm a fugitive apprehension agent."  
  
"Again, 'huh?'"  
  
"Bounty hunter. High-bond stuff."  
  
"Ahhh." Yeah, that was definitely a Ranma kinda job.  
  
----------------------------------------------------------------------  
  
When we wandered into the theater, I was rather overwhelmed by the chaos. The director was actually acting his stature and was talking incessantly in a semi-hysterical, high voice to the police and someone even shorter than he was.  
  
"Hey," Ranma said, "isn't that, what's-his-face, Gosunkugi?"  
  
"Yeah, he works for some producing company that is involved with the plays here."  
  
Gos glanced over at me and gave a sickly little smile that was probably supposed to be comforting. Then he saw the person next to me and nearly went into cardiac arrest. When he realized that the person next to me was Ranma Saotome, and I thought that he really was going to die of shock. He visibly collected himself and came over to us.  
  
His voice was still soft and slightly high, strange enough to be unique and still forgettable. "Saotome? Saotome Ranma?"  
  
"Hey," Ranma said, and you could almost see Gos wincing back, intimidated as he had always been by the various skilled fighters at Furinkan, from Ranma to Kuno. "Gosunkugi Hikaru, right?"  
  
"Yeah." Again with the nervous, sickly smile. I really wished that he'd stop. "How have you been? It's been eight years, right? You doing alright?"  
  
"Yeah, I'm pretty comfortable. You?"  
  
"Alright...not great, but not bad. I've, uh, heard about some of your work."  
  
One of Ranma's eyebrows slowly raised in a question.  
  
"Only the legal stuff," Gos quickly added. Thus stuffing his foot farther into his mouth, apparently, because this time both Ranma's eyebrows went sharply skyward. Gos evidently decided that he was treading on thin ice, and with Ranma, thin ice was usually right over Niagara Falls - you fell through, and you were done for. "Forget I said that. I'll stop talking now."  
  
"Yeah."  
  
This led to a long, uncomfortable silence. Well, uncomfortable for Gosunkugi, who was quite obviously terrified, and uncomfortable for me, as I was wondering about the stuff Gos had said he hadn't heard about, namely the stuff that was not quite so legal. Ranma, relaxed in his position of power, did not seem to be uncomfortable at all. Then again, maybe this was just his new gift for hiding his feelings.  
  
"Saotome!" It was one of the homicide cops who I had talked to this morning at three o'clock in dirty pajamas and bloody flip-flops.  
  
"Yeah?" Ranma yelled back.  
  
"You checked into the office this morning? Thompson skipped on his court date. You're gonna have to bring him in, 'cause your boss signed his get- out-of-jail ticket."  
  
"What's his bail? What's he done?"  
  
"In that order, Saotome? Only you. The dude skipped on a $300,000 bond, meaning your ten percent gets you $30,000. He's wanted for triple homicide. The guys are already taking bets on when you'll bring him in. Pot is a hundred bucks."  
  
"Uh-huh."  
  
My eyes were about to pop out of my head. Ranma had told me he was a bounty hunter, but it hadn't really registered. But my god, *this* was how Ranma made his money? Messing with murderers? He was going to get himself killed!  
  
And why should I care? I asked myself. Before this morning, I hadn't seen him in eight years! He could have died at any point in time after he'd left and I never would have known. Of course, I'd occasionally wondered if death was what kept him from coming back. More often, however, I'd wondered if he'd fallen for someone else; if, to him, out of sight with me meant out of mind. He had been away far longer than the year and a half that I'd been with him for. He was a distant friend at best, closer to an old acquaintance. Right? Maybe.  
  
And, of course, there was the big question. Was I still in love with Ranma Saotome? Of course not! Maybe.  
  
"What if Ranma doesn't get this guy?" I asked.  
  
The cop looked at me as if I had the IQ of a toaster oven. Evidently, the possibility of Ranma failing to find the guy had never crossed anyone's mind. "Saotome? Not bring someone in?"  
  
Well, some things hadn't changed, evidently. Win or die trying was definitely the Ranma I knew. "Right," I said. "Forget I asked."  
  
----------------------------------------------------------------------  
  
Half an hour later, Ranma was poking around with the cops, and I was just standing around, letting the tension build up until I was ready to explode. The murderer could be in this very room, my head said. He could be waiting to - "  
  
"Akane?" A hand came down on my shoulder.  
  
"Aaah!"  
  
Ranma and the cops all whirled around and guns came out of hostlers. Ranma, I noticed with surprise, had a gun as well.  
  
"Um, sorry," I said sheepishly to Gosunkugi, whose hand had caused the scream and who was now hiding behind one of the audience chairs, obviously terrified out of his wits.  
  
"First Rule of Cops: don't startle someone in homicide, because then they usually have to arrest themselves for blowing off your head." Ranma chuckled to me, at which point several cops jokingly pretended to be ready to shoot him.  
  
Okay. Note to self: first rule of cops, don't piss off anyone with a gun.  
  
"I'm sorry, Gos," I said. "You startled me, is all."  
  
"Um...sorry…?"  
  
"No big deal."  
  
Gos was fidgeting more than usual today; he seemed nervous and withdrawn. "Akane?"  
  
"Hmmm?"  
  
"Who do you think killed Hiroshi?"  
  
"I have no idea. He said he was working on this big story, but he never told me what it was. Who do *you* think it was?"  
  
"You don't wanna know."  
  
Okay, *that* surprised me.  
  
"You don't think it was me, do you?" I asked.  
  
"No. I don't think it was you. But...oh, you won't like this."  
  
"What? WHAT?"  
  
"Are you and Ranma involved again?"  
  
"Gos, don't change the subject."  
  
"ARE you?"  
  
"No!" Hopefully that would change. "And why does it matter?"  
  
"Akane, you should stay away from him." All I could do was gape at him, but he ignored me and continued. "I'm serious. Ranma isn't just a bounty hunter. There's been rumors all over the place that he's involved with all kinds of illegal stuff – you know, the stuff that involves guns without permits and knee surgery. The cops have never gotten anything on him because most of them like him, but there are some who feel like that with his bounty hunter gig he's taken their work, and they'd *love* to nail him for something."  
  
Something came back to me that Ranma had said earlier.  
  
You never really knew who I was then, and you most certainly don't have the *faintest* clue now!  
  
Gos was still talking. "These cops have been waiting for years for Ranma to slip up. And yes, there *are* valid rumors that Ranma kills people, on occasion. So what better way to catch him then to feed a one-time friend these rumors, then send him out after a guy he knows better than anyone?"  
  
"Are you saying the cops may have set Ranma up?"  
  
"No. I'm saying that Hiroshi knew stuff about Ranma that the cops didn't, so he was able to nail Ranma with something big. And rumors do say that, just like old times, Ranma's schemes are still big, and maybe a bit more crazy. Hiroshi stumbled in on the jackpot – and Ranma decided that Hiroshi needed to be persuaded to keep his mouth shut. I can't think of anyone else with a reason or motive."  
  
There was calm way he'd talked about killing. And something else: Hiroshi had asked me about Ranma, just before he was killed. I had dismissed it as reminiscing on old times, but what if it was more? He hadn't mentioned the relationship between Ranma and I until after I'd confirmed that I knew nothing about my ex-fiancé's doings.  
  
"You think Ranma killed Hiroshi," I said softly. I didn't want to believe it. But with no evidence, if Gos was telling me the truth, then the situations surrounding the murder pointed straight at the possibility that the murderer was Saotome Ranma.  
  
---------------------------------------------------------------------------- ----------------  
  
END OF PART 2! PLEASE review or mail me at nakigoe_chan@hotmail.com. Constructive criticism is very welcome, but no flames, please. I *know* you don't like the way I ended that chapter, and I don't want to ruin my relatively good mood. The Patriots won the Superbowl, after all, so there must be some hope for humanity. ^_^  
  
IN CHAPTER 3, THREE TO GET DEADLY:  
  
Akane gets some firsthand experience at Fugitive Apprehension, the romantic tension builds, Gosunkugi confronts Ranma with his suspicions and things get a lot more dangerous.  
  
Again, if you want to be emailed when the next chapter comes out, either request it in a review or mail me at nakigoe_chan@hotmail.com.  
  
Chapter 3 IS written and being edited, but in view of the possibilities of crises I'm not making any when-it-will-be-out promises.  
  
'Till next time...^_~  
  
~ nakigoe-chan 


	3. Three to Get Deadly

Author's Notes:  
  
Yeah, yeah, I know. This took awhile. Why has it been over a month since this was updated, if all AY3 needed was editing? The answer is that I do happen to have a life outside of my fanfiction, and that life needs to take priority. My junior year in high school is rapidly drawing to a close, which means that I'm starting to look at colleges. And since my high school is notorious for the ghastly amount of work it loads on, more stuff to do is not often a welcome thing. So I've been hurting for time. Also, I make sure I take all of my prereaders' comments into account, and they have busy lives too. 'After You' is still coming along, but don't expect it to come along any faster.  
  
As I always note, I have the best prereaders in existence: Alissa, Diana, Natalia, and Greg. This fic would not be where it is without them.  
  
This chapter is dedicated to all those who have given me their thoughts on the two before it deep breath: Darksyn, Rei, Silver Kitty Kat, ManaChan, D-Chan, Lia-chan, Ray DeVore, SongInTheSilence, Shiannime, dmoni, Jace, may, Super Kawaii, Farseeker, anna lee, ramen, Ye Almighty, neko-chama, Akane Miata, Jaid Skywalker, John Surber, pokey, NemesisZero, Makotojs, lija, CSMars, Vivi, and WeirdyxKoshy. And of course, those of my school anime buds that have already read this chapter: Lauren, Yueling, Whitney, and Mariel.  
  
The mailing list is in operation: if you wanna be notified when a new chapter of AY comes out, say so in a review or email me at nakigoe_chan@hotmail.com.  
  
--------------------  
  
AFTER YOU  
  
Chapter 3: Three to Get Deadly  
  
By: nakigoe-chan  
  
--------------------  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
Damn. I left my Antichrist gun at home.  
  
-Ranger, Janet Evanovich's 'Three to Get Deadly'  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
No way. No way in HELL.  
  
It couldn't possibly be true.  
  
It was just a stupid rumor. Besides, Gosunkugi had always been jealous of Ranma, and had always had a crush on me. What better way to keep us apart than to place mistrust in me from the very start? Not to mention that one imagines one's enemies capable of the most horrible things.  
  
Unfortunately, there was still that nagging little 'but'...  
  
It wasn't as if Ranma had never killed before. I couldn't even imagine the power he had needed to kill Saffron. And Ranma – doubtless this new Ranma, certainly the old Ranma – was nothing if not power-hungry. He would do anything to gain the advantage and keep it.  
  
No - there were limits; even with Ranma, who had spent his life defying limits. There was only one thing he was willing to go that far for, and that one thing was me. Or was that just another illusion of the past? I didn't know what to believe anymore. But I wasn't about to let Gos know that.  
  
"He didn't do it."  
  
"You sure?"  
  
"Yes." I said with a voice edged in defiance.  
  
He shrugged. "Whatever." He didn't believe me. And, as ashamed as I was to admit it, I didn't totally believe me either. Not that I thought Ranma had done it. I just wasn't totally positive that he hadn't.  
  
And all of a sudden, he was next to me. And despite my doubts, I had that safe feeling again. Nothing would happen to me as long as he was there. Or was it just me dwelling on memories?  
  
"Hey," he said. "You ready to go? Our work here is done."  
  
"Yeah." I glanced back at Gosunkugi, as if daring him to accuse Ranma or tell me not to go off with him alone. Gos looked worried, but said nothing.  
  
"Ja, Gos." Ranma said, and the two of us walked out of the theater. I heard a cop ask another if I was Ranma's girlfriend, and I got shivers at the thought. The very idea was beautiful and frightening, and I couldn't completely imagine it.  
  
Which led to a question that made me stop and gasp – I had never considered the possibility that Ranma might already have a girlfriend. The topic had never come up, and I was too terrified to ask, but I couldn't stop thinking about the question of whether or not Ranma was already taken. The object of my mental wanderings turned and looked at me quizzically. "Something wrong?"  
  
"No," I managed. "Nothing's wrong."  
  
We walked out of the building, and flurries danced around us, the first flakes of the season. I smiled at Ranma. "Lucky it's so cold, huh?"  
  
He gave me his clueless look, and it was so familiar that I burst out laughing. His expression became edged in irritation, but his voice was devoid of hostility when he asked me what I was talking about.  
  
"The snow," I explained through giggles. "Your curse."  
  
He laughed then, too. "It's been so long," he said. "I got rid of my curse years ago."  
  
"You did?" I asked. "That's fantastic! I'm so happy for you."  
  
"Yeah, I'm so happy for me, too."  
  
"How?"  
  
"Long story. I'll get into it later."  
  
And we walked along in companionable silence, listening to the sounds around us and watching the snow start to stick. When we got to his car, he made a melodramatic bow and held the door open for me.  
  
"What do you know," I said. "You've finally learned to be something of a gentleman."  
  
"More of an actor," he told me, going around the car and sliding behind the wheel. "I don't think you can be a bounty hunter and a gentleman. It would be like a grizzly in a tuxedo. It would be like Schwarzenegger as a ballerina."  
  
I laughed as he pealed down the road in an ungentlemanly fashion, and realized that Ranma being a gentleman would be like Ranma being a gentleman, and that was the best comparison of all. And if Ranma had to compromise himself to be a gentleman, then screw being a gentleman. I wouldn't have Ranma any other way.  
  
-----------------------------------------------------------------------  
  
He dropped into a very chic office in a 20-story building to pick up some work related stuff. He'd offered to take me back to my apartment, but I stammered out a decline after he reassured me that until we established that no one was after me, he'd rather have me stick around. The office had that simple but expensive look. While I couldn't bring myself to terms with Ranma having an office, this was the office that - should he be forced into picking one - he would feel the most comfortable in.  
  
I sat in one of the two chairs facing the mahogany desk as he sat down behind it and put his feet up, shuffling through his mail. Ranma had always been strong, but now I came to grips with how much he'd learned about survival. Here he was, doing something the old Ranma would never be pictured doing; going about as normal a life as he could bear to tie himself down to, and actually being very successful at it. Though in all honesty, I still thought of Ranma as good at anything. Was this the image he'd induced, or the image I wanted?  
  
"I didn't know you kept in contact with Nabiki," I said, letting my mouth open as my thoughts roamed.  
  
"I do some work for her, sometimes. Maybe it's for old time's sake." He grinned as he briefly glanced up from the laptop where he was now presumably checking his email. "Maybe because now I actually get paid for it, and it has nothing to do with revealing photographs."  
  
"Do you really need her money? You seem to be doing well. So what do you get from her? Financial advice? Girl advice?" the last of which was, of course, my subtle way of screaming at him: have you got a girlfriend/fiancée/wife?  
  
"Is that your way of asking if I'm involved with someone?"  
  
Well, he was certainly a lot more observant than he used to be. "No."  
  
"Then I won't tell you."  
  
"Hey! You brought it up!"  
  
"But YOU don't care." He smirked.  
  
"That's right," I said haughtily. "I don't."  
  
"So you don't need to know."  
  
I SO needed to know, but I wasn't about to tell him that.  
  
"Nabiki does give me business and financial advice, not to mention pays me well for various jobs. She also keeps me up to date on you Nerima people. We're actually pretty good friends now; but I'm beginning to suspect that she might have started to respect me, so I have no idea what is going on."  
  
We smiled at each other and I felt that tingly, happy feeling again. He had such a sexy grin.  
  
He shrugged on his leather jacket as we left the room. As he held open the door for me, he said, "No."  
  
"No?"  
  
"I don't currently have a girlfriend."  
  
With my back to him, I allowed myself a small private grin. 'Small,' of course, in the sense that it didn't stretch all the way around my head, only because that's physically impossible.  
  
-----------------------------------------------------------------------  
  
Once again in the car, Ranma leaned back in the leather driver's seat and exhaled. "I have work to do," he said, "so I'm going to have to drop you off at your apartment and - "  
  
"Can't I come?"  
  
"Akane," he sighed, "I'm a bounty hunter. This isn't a desk job where you can sit around in the office lounge and read a paperback and not get in the way. This is chasing criminals. You'll either get in the way, get shot, or both. Neither of which I'm enthusiastic about."  
  
I pouted, and through his iron resistance I could see his resolve crumbling. Butter in my hands. "Please?" I asked, not pouring on the sweet factor to the point of being whiny and disgusting but still managing to ooze charm.  
  
"Akane..." Ooh, he was gonna crack. "No." Or not.  
  
"Ranma..."  
  
"Akane, I can NOT knowingly endanger you."  
  
"Ok, first of all, this is not a murderer, is it?"  
  
He shook his head. "He hasn't killed anyone yet, but that doesn't mean he won't. He *was* armed."  
  
"But - "  
  
"Akane, I'm not arguing with you about this. You can't come."  
  
"So you're going to leave me alone in my apartment?"  
  
Ranma started hitting his head on the steering wheel. He couldn't take me with him and he couldn't leave me behind. Dilemma, dilemma...  
  
-----------------------------------------------------------------------  
  
"Okay," Ranma said, "this is called a stun gun. You press these metal prongs against someone's skin, the gun omits an electrical charge, and the person you decided to play Franklin Kite with passes out."  
  
"Is there any permanent damage?"  
  
"No. But that doesn't mean you get to futz with it. It's a weapon, and should be treated like one."  
  
"Like my hammer?"  
  
"Bad example. Like a gun, only not so much."  
  
"Yeah. Hey, why don't I get a gun?"  
  
"Because you might shoot me."  
  
I settled for sticking my tongue out at him, rather than zapping him with the stun gun. He, of course, pointedly ignored it.  
  
"The guy we're going after," Ranma continued, "is an arsonist, but he's 65, so don't use the stun gun unless you have to. Old people aren't nearly so…durable."  
  
"We're after a 65-year-old pyromaniac?"  
  
"You got it, tomboy."  
  
"Hey!"  
  
"Force of habit. Plus it's true."  
  
Rather than yelling at him, I chose a tactic that I had found subtler and more effective than melodramatic explosions. I gave him my biggest puppy- dog eyes and asked softly, "Do you really think so?"  
  
I could tell that if the steering wheel had still been available, Ranma would have been banging his head against it again. "No. I just can't stop teasing you. I'm sorry; I don't say it to hurt your feelings."  
  
Instantly I was perky again. "I wasn't upset! I just wanted to hear you admit it so I can hold it against you later."  
  
"I really should have left you at your apartment."  
  
"Probably."  
  
"Maybe I should take you back right now."  
  
"Probably. But you aren't going to, are you?"  
  
Ranma sighed and shook his head.  
  
"So he won't shoot at us?" I asked.  
  
"Doubtful."  
  
"What will he do?"  
  
Ranma looked at me, and took his jacket off. "You aren't wearing leather, so there shouldn't be much of a problem. If you ARE wearing anything expensive, take it off. Let's go."  
  
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"Samson, I know that you're in there!" Ranma pounded on the door of a ratty apartment fifteen minutes later, with me two feet behind him.  
  
"You aren't going to kick the door down?"  
  
"I only get to do that if they're uncooperative, which this guy usually is. Best part of my job, but I gotta give them a chance or I get in trouble."  
  
"Ah."  
  
Ranma turned back to the door. "SamSON!"  
  
A diplomatic answer came through the door, showing us this man's willingness to be calm and reasonable. "FUCK OFF, SAOTOME!"  
  
"He knows me," Ranma explained to me with a shrug, "because I've had to bring him in several times before. He'll set something on fire, get arrested, make bail, and then not show up for his court date. So then he'll get arrested again, and the cycle just keeps going around. But the good thing is that *now* I get to kick the door in."  
  
The poor door never had a chance.  
  
"Still got it," Ranma grinned at me.  
  
"As if you ever had it," I told him.  
  
He gave me his sexiest evil smile and said, "You wanna test me out before you stand by that remark?"  
  
I blushed beet red and his grin widened. With a light laugh, he confirmed to himself, "Still got it."  
  
"Pervert."  
  
"Tomboy."  
  
And we went into the apartment, where Samson's response was as polite as his words had led us to believe, inasmuch as he promptly sprayed us with a handy fire extinguisher. Ranma avoided it, but since I hadn't expected it I caught a full blast in the face.  
  
"Gyaaaaaaaaah!"  
  
"You should have stepped out of the way," Ranma told me calmly.  
  
"You should have *warned* me!"  
  
"I didn't know. Last time he had a Super Soaker filled with soy sauce. He said he was celebrating my ethnicity. Then he ruined my shirt."  
  
"YOU'LL NEVER TAKE ME ALIVE!" Samson howled, waving his arms above his head.  
  
"You do the crime, you pay the time." Ranma told him firmly. "And you're lucky that I won't also make you pay her dry-cleaning bill. Besides, we both know that you only do this for the attention." He turned to me. "I figured we could deal with this guy your first time out because he's easy. He makes a big mess and a lot of noise, but in the end he's harmless."  
  
All I could do was stare at him, the white foamy stuff from the fire extinguisher dripping off me. The man had no concept of where life ended and insanity began.  
  
"This is because you guys lost the war, isn't it?" Samson sighed. "You guys are still pissed about that Hiroshima thing."  
  
"Ignore him," Ranma advised me. "Getting arrested makes him cranky."  
  
"I have the scoop on you people!" Samson yelled. "I've read 'Dave Barry Does Japan.' I know what's going on."  
  
"Oh, brother..."  
  
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"Here," Ranma said an hour later, as we walked out of the bond office he worked for, handing me a check.  
  
"What's this for?"  
  
"There was a bounty on Samson. You did some of the work, so you get some of the profits."  
  
I looked at the check. I knew what Samson was worth, and it was exactly this much. Ranma had given me the whole bond. I looked at the check again, then up at him. "You did most of the work. Why did you give me all of it?"  
  
He tsked to himself. "I was hoping you didn't know how much he was worth."  
  
"Why don't you take some?"  
  
"I don't need it. From what Nabiki tells me, you do."  
  
"That's none of your business!" I hissed. "I don't want your charity!"  
  
He shrugged. "I never pried Nabiki's mouth open. And it was your first takedown. I figured it was more to you than the routine it is to me."  
  
"Oh yeah?" I snapped. "So what *did* you get out of it?"  
  
He gave me a sideways smile. "The pleasure of your company."  
  
He was trying to cheer me up, loosen me up, I knew. And suddenly I felt ashamed; here he was, doing something thoughtful for me at his own expense without me even asking for it or doing anything to deserve it, and I was getting angry with him because I was embarrassed. Just like old times. "Sorry," I whispered. "I guess the past five minutes haven't done much in that front, huh?"  
  
"No problem. You wouldn't be you if you didn't manage to get pissed off at me on a regular basis. Keeps me on guard."  
  
I marveled at how comfortable this new Ranma felt about being himself around me. Was it because he had come to grips with his feelings for me, or because those feelings had disappeared? The amount he was flirting with me kept my hopes alive for the first. My feelings were pushing me to let themselves be known with every smile he'd given me. But for the moment, I'd settled for flirting back. "Right," I said, "you just wanted to see me blasted with that fire extinguisher."  
  
Ranma danced around me on the balls of his feet, his eyes dancing with them, and laughed, "Why would I want that? All that white foam covering your face? What a waste of a pretty face." I playfully grabbed his arm as I giggled, and all of a sudden we were nose-to-nose and all the playfulness was gone from his expression. His eyes had gone a deep blue, the grey almost completely receding in the intensity of color. My heart was beating at a gazillion miles an hour and my mind froze on that single, oh-so- anticipated-moment; he brushed a strand of hair from my face, we were leaning forward, he was going to *kiss* me...  
  
And then he swore and backed away.  
  
Damn, damn, damn, damn! "What?" I asked.  
  
"Gosunkugi. He followed us." He turned to the alleyway 20 feet behind us and called, "I know you're there, so you may as well come out."  
  
Hikaru Gosunkugi emerged from the alleyway, looking freaked out but resolved. I could tell just by looking at him that he had convinced himself that Ranma was guilty, and had taken into his own hands the duty of protecting me. I was not, however, in the mood to feel anything but murderous toward him because of what he had interrupted. Screw concern: Gos had messed up the chance of a lifetime, and I was as pissed as I could get in the 20 seconds I'd had to go from about-to-be-kissed to killing-the- little-bastard-with-no-sense-of-privacy. Ranma's face, of course, was unreadable.  
  
"What's up?" Ranma said calmly.  
  
"I know what you did," Gosunkugi quavered.  
  
"That covers a lot of territory."  
  
"You killed Hiroshi!"  
  
Ranma's brows came together in an expression of complete confusion. "You think *I* killed Hiroshi?"  
  
"You've done a lot of illegal stuff, and a lot of reporters would kill to get the evidence needed to nail you."  
  
"Well first of all, I don't know what they'd kill for, but I would not kill to keep it quiet. Second of all, Hiroshi was my friend. Third of all, all you have backing up this theory of yours is random guesses. So I knew him. So did dozens of other people. And I haven't seen him in years anyway, so why would I decide to out of the blue find him and kill him?"  
  
"You did it. He was an investigative reporter, you do illegal stuff, and he was asking questions about you! You had something to do with this story, and *you* are the one most capable of pulling something like this off."  
  
Ranma was calm, but Gos was frantic and terrified; he really thought that he was facing down a murderer, I realized. But my mind was calming itself as Ranma punched holes in Gosunkugi's theory. Ranma *had* to be innocent.  
  
"I don't care what you think," Ranma told Gos flatly, "and I have no interest in continuing this conversation. I am investigating this case in the interest of Akane's safety, and I do not plan to sit around and be called a murderer. Have a nice day, Gosunkugi, and leave us the hell alone." Ranma turned and walked to his car, and with a last glance at Gosunkugi, I scrambled after him.  
  
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"Does he really think I did it?" Ranma asked me after five minutes of silence. We were headed back to the apartment after Gosunkugi's accusation, and the silence of the car had been oppressive. I certainly wanted to talk about something, but this was not exactly a conversation topic I'd been hoping for.  
  
"Yeah. That's what he was talking to me in the theater about. He thinks that you're involved in a bunch of illegal stuff, and I guess he just hates you enough to come up with everything that might point at you."  
  
Ranma shrugged, looking depressed and slightly peeved. "Well, he's right about one thing; I *have* been involved in stuff that is frowned on by the government and general law enforcement. But I don't do anything that I consider morally wrong, and I certainly didn't murder Hiroshi." He sighed, and suddenly looked much older, as if the chaos of his youth had finally caught up to him. "For me, friends are hard enough to come by without killing them off. And of course," another sigh, and now I could hear the age in his voice as well as see it on his face, "there is no higher price on oneself than that of taking another's life." He glanced quickly, sadly, at me, and added, "Even if it is to save someone else."  
  
We rode in silence for a little longer, absorbed in what he'd said and what he'd left unsaid.  
  
But then he spoke again, and I saw through his question the insecurity that lay beneath, the need for someone in his world to have faith in him. "Do you think I did it?"  
  
"No," I said. "No, you didn't do it."  
  
And, finally, I was completely sure of it. I was suddenly as certain he was innocent as I was suddenly aware that, without a doubt, I still loved him.  
  
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"Do you want something to drink?" I asked him twenty minutes later, in my apartment. We had gotten back about ten minutes before, but Ranma had still been worried about me though he never said anything, and I was certainly in no hurry to send him on his merry way.  
  
"That would be good," he said, leaning back on the couch.  
  
I pulled two sodas out of the fridge and sat down next to him, not too close but not too far either, and handed him one of them. "So," I paused, "do you or the police have any theories about this?"  
  
Ranma looked uncomfortable. "Akane..."  
  
"What?"  
  
"Well, the thing is, there's only one real suspect they have so far that there's solid evidence against, even if they haven't made any arrests."  
  
"Who?"  
  
"You."  
  
I leapt to my feet. "*What?*"  
  
"Akane, calm down."  
  
"The police think that I murdered your friend, and you want me to calm down?!" I shrieked.  
  
Ranma ran down the facts as I buried my face in my hands. "You discovered the body at two in the morning in a place you shouldn't have been anyway. There's no evidence to say the call was made, and even if there was, you were the only one known to be alone with the body and you didn't call the police when you found it. You say that Hiroshi was working on a big, dangerous story but his newspaper has no knowledge of it. You know more about what was going on with Hiroshi than anyone innocent should. You have no alibi, because Nabiki was asleep, and even the fact that you didn't wake her up looks incriminating." He shrugged. "If Gos looked at the facts instead of his past vendetta, he'd think you were guilty instead of me if he wasn't still in love with you."  
  
Tears were coursing down my cheeks. I found myself echoing the question he'd asked in the car: "Do you think I did it?"  
  
"No."  
  
"How can you be so sure?" I was desperate to believe him but I didn't want comforting words. I wanted him to know, without a doubt, that I was innocent.  
  
"Akane."  
  
"Yes?"  
  
"Did you kill Hiroshi?"  
  
I exploded with fury and pain. "I thought you believed me!" I cried. "I thought you had faith in me! I thought that you trusted me! *I thought you thought that I was a good person!* I thought - "  
  
"Akane," he cut me off, "did you kill Hiroshi?"  
  
"NO!" I shrieked. How could he even ask? How could the person whose opinion mattered the most to me ask that question? Dry sobs wracked my body but the tears wouldn't come. "And you - "  
  
I was cut off again as, lightening fast, he was off the couch and had his arms around me. "I believe you," he whispered into my hair, then kissed my forehead. "Shhh, Akane, don't cry, I believe you." And I knew he meant it.  
  
I felt his arms hold me, gently but with a distinct possessiveness. This was the only place where I was safe, and I wanted to stay here, in his arms, forever.  
  
Which was (of course) *exactly* the moment Nabiki and Joey walked in.  
  
"Oh," Nabiki drawled, "la la."  
  
"This isn't what it looks like," Ranma and I said in unison.  
  
Argh! Did someone always have to interrupt just when things were getting interesting?  
  
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Ranma filled in Nabiki on the various details of the day as I made my special a la Kraft Macaroni & Cheese and tried to keep it away from Joey, who happens to like to eat Mac & Cheese almost as much as he likes to eat empty Gatorade bottles and my shoes. Ranma, of course, lingered on the details of the Samson arrest, which Nabiki was thoroughly amused by.  
  
Joey instantly adored Ranma, although as a general rule Joey instantly adores everyone. He was jumping up on Ranma and trying to lick his face, and Ranma has always had a great compatibility with dogs due to their traditional rivalry with cats. Actually, Joey is afraid of hyper little children and metro buses, but Ranma evidently did not fall into either category.  
  
We talked little about the case; nothing had happened to indicate to us that the killer even had my name, so I was starting to slightly relax. Ranma told me to stay on guard, but even he, who had been fully ready all day in anticipation of me being shot at, seemed to be relaxing.  
  
We sat down at the table and feasted on boxed dinner. Joey laid his head on Ranma's knee and made his eyes as big as he could. Ranma, however, kept all of his dinner for himself. His appetite hadn't changed, apparently, even if my ability to follow the simple directions on the side of a box had. I could now more or less follow a recipe, but Ranma and Nabiki amused themselves tremendously by pretending to die horrible, painful deaths at the hand of my cooking. Joey just hopped around, looking confused and barking. I went and fed the dog, stubbornly pretending to hold onto my dignity; there is something wrong with the sight of a bounty hunter in black jeans and a leather jacket pretending to die of food poisoning. However, they obviously did not care that I was ignoring them. They were laughing semi-hysterically when I bent over to put Joey's food bowl on the floor...  
  
...and the window shattered and something whizzed by above me, right where my head had been.  
  
A bullet?  
  
"SHIT!" Ranma yelled, pushing Nabiki to the floor while she choked on her macaroni. "Akane, get down!"  
  
I was completely immobile, though, so Ranma cursed as he leapt over and tackled me; we hit the ground hard and I winced. I was lying on my back, pinned beneath him, eyes shut tight in horror. A rain of bullets shattered my windows and hailed around us.  
  
Nabiki screamed in one long, incessant stream, and I was waiting for her to run out of air and pass out. Actually, I think she was less scared than just being melodramatic.  
  
You know, if I wasn't afraid for my life, and I wasn't about to have a *huge* bill for the trashing of the apartment, I would probably have thought this was very romantic.  
  
The bullets finally stopped. I stared up into Ranma's eyes. When he had come so close to kissing me, they had cleared into mostly blue; now they were a cloudy grey, and I could read his concern for me in them. I was trembling and I had tears coursing down my cheeks.  
  
"This *so* isn't my day," I whispered to him, and he smiled slightly.  
  
"HEL-*LO*!" Nabiki called. She was sitting on the floor, and would have looked very sophisticated if an inch of her hair hadn't stuck up at the side of her face. "Could you two please have your trashy romance stuff on your own time, and preferably not when I have to watch it? Can we get a little attention for the hapless victim over here?"  
  
Ranma stood up then held a hand out to me. I took it and he swept me up and into his arms, then stood back looking almost embarrassed. I was certainly blushing, but Nabiki looked nonplussed. "Save your romance for another time, little sister," she said, "'cause it looks like someone is after you after all..."  
  
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END OF CHAPTER 3! PLEASE TELL ME WHAT YOU THOUGHT! WAS IT GOOD? DID IT SUCK? I WANNA KNOW! Either R&R or mail me at nakigoe_chan@hotmail.com. I reply to all emails.  
  
IN CHAPTER 4, FOUR TO SCORE:  
  
(Wait...Four to SCORE?! No, not that, you perverts!) Ranma and Akane interview Hiroshi's coworker and snoop around the dead reporter's office. Gos stands by his theory, which leads to new revelations about Ranma. Ranma watches the play and gets hit on by Akane's coworkers. Oh, and one more little thing...no, I shouldn't tell you THAT. ^_^ And yes, I know all this because it's done and being edited.  
  
Author's notes [Damn, can I ramble or what?!]:  
  
I've gotten a few questions pertaining to 'After You.' So here's a fun little Q&A session...  
  
Q1) Will this be Ranma/Akane?  
  
A1) AY is a Ranma/Akane romance, because I believe very strongly in the couple (If you disagree, send me an email and I will be happy to tell you why I believe in no other pairing). However, you can't write a murder story and tell people it will have a happy or a miserable ending, because that takes away the suspense. This is a love story, but I make no guarantees for a happily-ever-after. If you wanna know, you'll have to stick around until the end of the ride, and it promises to be a pretty long ride.  
  
Q2) Are you just winging this, or do you actually know what you're doing?  
  
A2) I NEVER know what I'm doing. ^_~ Okay, the truth is both. I have specific events plotted out, I know the truth about the murder, I know who's guilty and who's not, I know how the story will end, I know how the climactic scene will play it self out, and I know the last line of the fic. I know what and where and when my evidence will show up. But as I write, plenty of the stuff that goes into this story is a surprise to me to. Most of the scenes are not planned, they just come.  
  
Q3) Where did this fic come from? (One review said that it sounded like Fear Street, others have wondered about the play.)  
  
A3) I have not read Fear Street in many, many years, and even when I did it held little appeal. But yes, this fic WAS inspired by a book series – my favorite book series - by Janet Evanovich. My writing style is similar to hers in many ways (esp. in TSAA) and my favorite character, Ranger, is a lot like the grown-up Ranma of AY, although that wasn't supposed to happen. I have never seen an occupation given to Ranma in ANY fic that I thought perfectly suited him. Bounty hunter worked best in my book, and as his character came into the story, Ranma's personality meshed with Ranger's (who is also a bounty hunter) more and more. But the JE books are the inspiration. As for the play Akane performs, 'After You' is a REAL PLAY. I have no rights to it, but the lines were what first planted the idea of this fic.  
  
Q4) Will any other Ranma characters play a role?  
  
A4) Umm...you'll certainly find out about what's happened to many of them in the past eight years. I'm trying to decide whether or not anyone will actually SHOW UP. I'm leaning toward yes. (Ryoga, for example, who can show up ANYWHERE, in any fic, because of his unique ability to wind up everywhere but where he's trying to be.)  
  
Q5) Can anyone here say 'cliffhanger fetish?' What's your PROBLEM?  
  
A5) Okay. I admit it. I LOVE putting cliffhangers in my stories. What fun! Although I didn't think this chapter's cliffhanger was bad. I warn you, however, that the worst of the cliffhangers are yet to come.  
  
I hope you're enjoying the story so far. ^_~  
  
~ nakigoe-chan 


	4. Four to Score

Well, yeah, here I am again, to dole out another chapter of 'After You' to all those out there in fanfictionland who haven't gotten sick of it yet or decided that I update too slowly to capture any attention. I've been busy with schoolwork (lots of schoolwork, at a school known for the ridiculous amount it doles out even when there AREN'T end-of-the-year grades to be gotten) but I have been writing. And even editing (actually, my prereaders do most of the editing) and now, here we are, chapter four, whoopee.  
  
Speaking of prereaders, mine are a thing of beauty and a joy forever: Alissa, Diana, Natalia, Greg, and (drum roll, please) we now welcome Chris and Yueling!  
  
This chapter is dedicated to the AY brigade (aka the people who attack me daily for the next part, and thus keep me writing even when I'm feeling lazy; the people whose enthusiasm makes me think maybe I don't stink at this writing thing): Mariel, Carlen, Whitney, Yueling, and Hilda.  
  
I would also like to thank all of you who have reviewed (or emailed me about) my story. In the end, I write because I love to write, but getting encouraging reviews really makes my day. It's so nice to know that some people are actually enjoying this story.  
  
And this chapter contains...the moment many of you have been waiting for. It is of course the moment where, at the height of the romantic tension...Ranma and Akane do the chicken dance (just kidding. If you want to know, you'll have to read it.) So, without further ado,(me, ado? Never! ) here it is...  
  
----------------  
  
AFTER YOU  
  
Chapter 4: Four to Score  
  
By: nakigoe-chan  
  
-----------------  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
Honey, a man can't keep his gun in a cookie jar. It just isn't done.  
  
- Joe Morelli, Janet Evanovich's 'Four to Score'  
  
Vinnie is 5"7, looks like a weasel, thinks like a weasel, smells like a French whore and was once in love with a duck.  
  
- Stephanie Plum, Janet Evanovich's 'Four to Score'  
  
  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
Okay, so someone was trying to kill me; there had just been a rain of bullets into my apartment. I guess Hiroshi was right, and his phone had been tapped. Nabiki told me she thought that we were lucky to be alive, but from what I could tell, the bill for the glass was going to kill me anyway. Death by debt. The mafia was apparently getting more creative.  
  
I leaned into Ranma's chest, and I could feel his heartbeat racing. If mine went any higher it would be off the charts, either from the fear for my life or the fact that he still had his arms around me.  
  
But he removed them and motioned for Nabiki and me to stay still. Gun in hand, he slipped silently forward and peered out the window; then he sighed and put the weapon away.  
  
"A car just peeled out of the lot," he said. "It's a mauve Toyota Camry, I think, but it's probably stolen. Either way, they're gone."  
  
I let my breath out in a tired whoosh and sat down on the couch, then looked up at Ranma. I couldn't read his face. "I'll understand, you know, if you want to leave or quit on this case. I don't want to endanger you like this."  
  
"I won't." Nabiki said firmly. "Saotome, you aren't going anywhere. You are sleeping on our floor tonight, because I am not going to feel safe without you playing superman in here. If my sister wants to be all noble, she can go sleep in the car."  
  
"Hey! This is my apartment! And don't you care if I get shot?"  
  
"Sure. But I don't want to get shot by someone trying to get you shot, either. I don't want him leaving, and we all know that you don't either."  
  
Both of us turned to look at Ranma. "I wasn't going to leave until you two wanted me to anyway," he said, but his eyes were on me.  
  
"We could stay at your place," Nabiki said to Ranma, "If that would be safer." She paused. "Where is your place?"  
  
Ranma shook his head. "My place probably wouldn't be safer for various reasons, and if I told you where it was, I'd have to kill you."  
  
With another sigh, I went to the closet for the spare blankets and pillows.  
  
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I had suggested to Nabiki that she and I share the living room and give Ranma the bed, but he politely declined and she less-than-politely informed us that she was sleeping nowhere but the bed unless, of course, Ranma and I wanted to share it. I blushed and stammered out a negative; Ranma grinned and winked at me. He seemed to be able to take teasing much better than I could.  
  
I came out of the bathroom in my pajamas and told Ranma he was welcome to take a shower if he wanted. He turned and started to answer in the affirmative, but he got a funny look on his face and paused in mid-sentence when he caught sight of me. I had no idea why; my pajama pants and t-shirt combo were hardly a glamorous, planned look. I had considered wearing a negligee but decided Ranma might lose some respect for me and I would never hear the end of it from Nabiki. But I had no further time to ponder it; Ranma disappeared into the bathroom and I plopped down on the couch.  
  
Nabiki pretended to be flipping through a magazine. She gave herself away with her questions.  
  
"What was that all about?"  
  
"No idea." I shrugged, feigning disinterest.  
  
Pause. "You still have a thing for him, right?"  
  
"Nabiki, I haven't seen him in eight years. Give me a break. The fact that I have a hot bounty hunter in my apartment doesn't completely change my life or my position toward Ranma."  
  
Another pause. We both knew I hadn't answered the question, and Nabiki decided not to let me off the hook. "You still have a thing for him, right?" she repeated.  
  
"Yeah, I guess I do."  
  
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Yes, Nabiki wound up on the bed. Ranma flat-out refused to take the couch if it meant I had to sleep on the floor, (stubborn as always) so we laid out some quilts and pillows next to the couch for him. This position was going to seriously impair my abilities to get a full night's sleep; I was going to be acutely aware of his presence all night. Not that I was complaining, you understand.  
  
I turned on my side and looked down at him, tracing his features with my eyes. His face had become more angular in all those years and his hair was slightly longer. I had thought that Ranma was handsome at 16, but the man beside me was so much more, inside and out. I had no idea what to make of him, and there was so much about him that I didn't know, but he was a mystery worth solving.  
  
The mystery in question opened his eyes and looked at me.  
  
I 'eeped' self-consciously and rolled onto my back, focusing my gaze on the far less interesting ceiling. I could here him laughing softly below, and I fumed with an embarrassment that was not entirely unpleasant.  
  
"Is something wrong, Akane?" he asked, the amusement still in his voice.  
  
I turned over again and looked down at him. "Ranma..."  
  
"Hmm?"  
  
"Did you...I mean, do you..."  
  
Suddenly he seemed a lot more interested, propping himself up on an elbow and staring up at me with those intense eyes.  
  
"What I mean is...do you..." I stammered, trying to keep my expression in check.  
  
"What?"  
  
"Snore."  
  
"Oh." He leaned back, the slight amusement returning to his voice. "I don't think so. I haven't had anyone in a position to tell me for a long time."  
  
Good answer, ne?  
  
Though I had thought that I wouldn't be able to sleep with him so close, the fact that I'd had several crises and no sleep in two days let me fall away into dreamland, lulled by thoughts of the man beside me.  
  
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"Rise and shine, Tomboy," Ranma's voice broke through my sleep. I mumbled something incoherent and pulled the covers over my head; he responded by yanking all of them off the couch and thus dumping me unceremoniously onto the floor with an indignant squeal of protest.  
  
"Since when are you a morning person?" I grumbled as I got to my hands and knees.  
  
"What makes you think it's still morning, sleepyhead?"  
  
I checked my watch. "It's 7:00!"  
  
"Yeah. I've been up for an hour."  
  
I gave him the you're-crazy look and he gave me the patronizing look. "What have you been doing?"  
  
"Making phone calls and checking up on work. I called the paper Hiroshi worked at; you and I get to go snoop around his office in 45 minutes. Let's move. I don't think you wanna go in your pajamas."  
  
I stuck out my tongue at him and stomped off to the bedroom, where Nabiki was already up, dressed, and busy brushing her hair.  
  
"How do you guys get up so early?"  
  
Nabiki shrugged. "Me because I'm organized, him because he's crazy."  
  
That was true, I supposed, even if it wasn't the reason. My personal belief was that they were both crazy.  
  
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"You can poke all you want, you still ain't gonna find nothin'."  
  
The man who guided us to Hiroshi's desk at the paper claimed to be a friend of the deceased, but he was one of the more disagreeable people I'd ever met and he looked it. Jim Weaver was scraggily, unwashed, and decorated with greasy hair, rumpled clothes, and the perpetual expression that indicated anyone who communicated with and/or entered in any way into his life was a distinctly unwanted imposition. This was his introduction and only comment, and his air toward Hiroshi's death and the lengths Ranma and I were going to to solve the case were so rude that I could not even find it in me to be sincerely offended by his manner.  
  
Ranma asked him a rapid series of questions, but the most extensive response he got was a grunt. Finally, he asked Weaver what he thought Hiroshi had been working on, if only to get an answer that went further than a head movement. In exasperation, Weaver snapped, "What are you, a cop?"  
  
"No."  
  
"P.I.?"  
  
"No."  
  
"Then shut the hell up with the questions."  
  
Ranma was silent for a moment, and though he didn't look cowed to me, I could tell that Jim thought he was. "Mr. Weaver, one more question, if you please," Ranma eventually said, carefully and politely. "Are you aware that you are in violation of your bond agreement?"  
  
Weaver practically jumped out of his skin; I practically burst out laughing. I'd had no idea that he was FTA – Failure to Appear, in bounty hunter lingo, meaning he was like Samson, and had chosen to forgo the pleasure of his court date - but Ranma had obviously picked his sources carefully.  
  
"I thought you said you weren't a cop!"  
  
"I work for your insurance company's bondsman as an enforcement agent."  
  
"Translation," Weaver sneered, "You're one of his no-good asshole bounty hunters."  
  
"I really don't think the term 'no-good asshole' applies to me in this situation. I was under the impression that it was the other way around."  
  
"Smartass, you don't know nothin'."  
  
"Mr. Weaver," Ranma said, in his best I'm-willing-to-be-reasonable-about- this tone, "I think you should take into consideration the fact that I'm being nice to you, inasmuch as if you answer my questions you get a little more time to get your affairs in order before I escort you to...make your case of carrying concealed before the court."  
  
"Oh, great deal. I get extended time before you haul me off to the clink."  
  
Ranma's voice became flat, carrying a distinct threat. "I could just take you now, if you prefer."  
  
"What makes you think you could take me, you scrawny little Kung-Pow bastard?" Weaver drew himself up to the full four inches he had above Ranma.  
  
Ranma's mouth turned up in a tiny evil smile, similar to the expression he used to wear when Kuno had challenged him. It was reserved for those who in all seriousness believed they were stronger than him when in reality Ranma could take them blindfolded, both hands tied behind his back, without even breaking a sweat.  
  
Ranma and Weaver stared into each other's eyes for a moment, each turning up the intimidation level. I could feel Ranma keeping his aura in check, which I understood. Doing weird supernatural things outside of Nerima tended to produce police questionnaires. But he didn't need the aura to freak the hell out of normal people when he wanted to, and Weaver, with a sulky look, turned and stormed down the hall looking like a child sent to his room – angry at the injustice but knowing he was powerless to challenge the authoritative power that had caused it.  
  
Weaver opened a door at the end of the hallway, sour expression still stubbornly disfiguring his appearance, and gestured us inside. The office was small and cluttered. Ranma sat down, ignoring Weaver, and dissected the file cabinet while I sat down at the desk and systematically leafed through the floppies. The chair was a spinning chair that no longer spun, and it fit right in with the comfortable chaos of the office. Papers were strewn around, comic books lay hidden under mounds of junk mail, the computer had a Microsoft Word document minimized but solitaire was up and halfway through a destined-to-be-fruitless game.  
  
Weaver had disappeared into the office next to Hiroshi's and slammed the door once he realized that his continued presence was not going to drive us away any faster, but Ranma and I did not take advantage of his absence to make small talk. Ranma, even after eight years, didn't seem the type. We just worked together in companionable silence, him squatting on the floor in front of the desk and me sitting in the broken chair taking 3 ½ inch floppies in and out of the disk drive, until he sighed with resignation, stood up, and crossed the tiny office to stand behind me.  
  
"Find anything?"  
  
"No, but I'm not done with these disks yet. You?"  
  
"Nada. Everything's on the computer these days anyway. Did you check the hard drive?"  
  
"Yeah, but nothing interesting is on it."  
  
"We should hit the road. We stay too long, and they'll think we're snooping."  
  
"We *are* snooping."  
  
"Yeah, but they don't have to know that. Take the rest of the disks with you."  
  
"What? But that's stealing!"  
  
"I think Hiroshi's filed his last police report, Tomboy. Those disks aren't going to help anyone by sitting around waiting to get thrown away."  
  
"But it's illegal."  
  
"Probably. But doing it doesn't hurt anyone, and it may help us figure out what's up. You people make all these cracks about how mentally challenged the government is and then you follow all their rules, no questions asked?"  
  
Forget love. The man was a pain in the ass.  
  
-----------------------------------------------------------------------  
  
All the way out of the building, with the disks in my purse, I felt like a criminal. My imagination told me that all the people around me had x-ray vision, and all the casual glances saw through the black leather that hid my new identity as a lawbreaker. When I got home, I was going to bash Ranma's head in.  
  
He strolled along next to me as if he didn't have a care in the world, and glanced at me from the corner of his eye. "Nervous?" he asked softly, his tone of voice excessively innocent.  
  
"You are scum, Saotome, and pretty soon you're going to be dead scum." Coming from me to Ranma, it wasn't an entirely empty threat, but he smiled and winked anyway.  
  
"You wouldn't do that to me. I'm too cute."  
  
He was wrong there. I did not think of him as at all cute. 'Hello Kitty' was cute. 'Afro Dog' was cute. Even Joey, to an extent that did not reach to him chewing up my furniture, was cute. Ranma was NOT cute. Ranma was closer to *smokin'*.  
  
"Your looks can't save you, Saotome. They never have, and they never will."  
  
"You mean all this time I was just getting by on my winning personality?"  
  
"You were getting by on the fact that if I murdered you, I'd have all this stupid paperwork to fill out."  
  
-----------------------------------------------------------------------  
  
We stopped for lunch at a Vietnamese place nearby called Saigon Gourmet. A few months previous it had been a fashionable place that had made itself so popular that the line trailed out the door. Now, while the food was still good, the decline in popularity left Ranma and I nearly alone in the restaurant except for two elderly couples and, two minutes after we took our seats, Gosunkugi. He was apparently still following us, playing my bodyguard, pretending that if Ranma tried anything he had the power to avert disaster. Good grief.  
  
Ranma pointedly ignored him, so I followed his lead.  
  
We ordered spring rolls and Han Noi beef soup as appetizers, then followed it up with two shared entrees of Bo Dun and grilled pork with rice crepes as we discussed the case in low voices. I could see Ranma's amusement as Gos leaned forward, trying to catch our conversation, and wound up falling out of his chair. He stood up, red-faced, and gave up eavesdropping. He was far enough away for it to have been a fruitless venture anyway, and all three of us knew it, so he settled for watching us and sulking.  
  
"Weaver didn't tell us something." Ranma remarked idly, dipping some pork into the corresponding mystery sauce provided.  
  
"Weaver didn't tell us *anything.* He was a throwback to the time of Neanderthal Man: point, grunt." I violently stabbed a perfectly innocent vegetable so hard that it made the plate screech and Ranma wince.  
  
"What I mean is, there was something about the case that he specifically didn't tell us."  
  
"What?"  
  
"How should I know?"  
  
"If you don't know what he was hiding, how do you know he wasn't telling us something?"  
  
"You can just tell. He had a look. He was hiding something about Hiroshi."  
  
"So how does this fact help us?"  
  
Ranma shrugged. "It's significant that, in this case, Weaver has something to hide."  
  
"Are you telling me he's a suspect?"  
  
"Tomboy, *every*body's a suspect. I'm a suspect, you're a suspect; hell, *Gosunkugi's* a suspect, and that's saying something."  
  
I digested this information along with some soup. Then I looked up at him, fixed him with the glare of someone who has something significant to say, and commanded in as stern a voice as I could manage, "Don't *call* me that, you jerk."  
  
He gave me a mock salute. "You got it, Tomboy."  
  
-----------------------------------------------------------------------  
  
Despite my not-at-all-in-earnest protests, Ranma paid the bill for both of us, shrugged into his leather jacket, and led the way out, followed closely by me and not-so-closely by Gosunkugi.  
  
I had play rehearsal, so I told Ranma to drop me off at the theater. He said that with so many people there I was relatively safe, but that he'd be back fifteen minutes before practice ended to pick me up since a) he was still protecting me, and b) I didn't have a car. Ranma escorted me into the stage area and rechecked with the director about what time practice would end.  
  
"What are you going to do while I'm working?" I asked. "Go after more elderly pyromaniacs?"  
  
"Actually, I've been hired as part of a group to do some securities enforcement and debris removal stuff this afternoon."  
  
"Debris removal? You're going to go drive a garbage truck, or something?"  
  
"There's an apartment complex in the less socially acceptable part of town that has some dealers shacked up, refusing to leave, setting fire to the appliances, and pushing to the kids that live in the building. I've been hired to...clean up."  
  
"Kicking them out is illegal. There's this whole thing you have to go through..."  
  
Ranma shrugged. "They're pushing pot to kids. That's illegal, too. You decide which side you think I should be working for in this little war."  
  
Ah. So this was the illegal stuff Gos had mentioned before. I silently approved of Ranma's position, but balked at telling him that for some unknown reason. The whole situation was so...Ranma. What I would expect of him. He hadn't been able to stand up to a fiancée to save his life, but on moral issues his stances were firm and decided, sending the distinct message of 'You got a PROBLEM with that?'  
  
"So, you escort the dealers out of the building."  
  
Ranma nodded, then smiled. Whether from acknowledgement of my unvoiced opinions on his work or amusement at what he was about to say, I'd never know. "Only on the upper floors. On the lower ones it's faster and more effective to just chuck 'em out the window."  
  
"Sounds like fun. Wish I could join you."  
  
"It won't be a really happening party, Tomboy. It's gonna smell real bad; people will get sworn at and shot at and you don't want to know what else. Not a pretty picture, I promise you. Have fun." And he was gone. It was the first time that I'd really had him out of my sight since he'd come back into my life, and my chest clinched in the panic of an instant that he might not come back. Then I turned, jumped on the stage, and lost myself for the afternoon in a world of fantasy merged with reality.  
  
-----------------------------------------------------------------------  
  
Midway through our last run-through I caught sight of him at the back of the theater. My breath caught in my throat and for an instant I stumbled over my line. I swallowed and continued, not knowing if I was embarrassed that he was watching me act – in this play, of all things. I forced myself not to look at him again, but my cruel eyes had ingrained the image into my head. I knew, without looking, that he was still leaning against the far wall, bathed in shadow, his arms crossed and his stance passive-aggressive. His expression set, carefully unreadable in such a way that, to the practiced eye, it revealed more than it hid.  
  
It was time for him to pick me up; of course he was there. He'd promised he would be.  
  
What did he think of me?  
  
What did he hear in the lines of the play?  
  
What did he remember?  
  
I was most afraid, actually, that he heard nothing at all, that it reminded him of nothing and no one. I was terrified that he thought of this as just another job for me, just another play.  
  
'After You' wasn't just another play. 'After You' was a weaving of my life, written by a stranger. The plot was different, the people were different, but the driving force, the emotions, the soul were all there.  
  
Or was I just kidding myself, as always?  
  
The run-through ended, and I stood up, leapt off the stage, and walked over to Ranma. His face still had that blank-yet-expressive look, but I couldn't read it. It was trying to tell me something in a language that I didn't understand.  
  
"So." I said, in that ridiculous voice that is supposed to sound casual but never seems to come out that way, "what did you think?"  
  
Ranma's voice was flat, but not angry or anything. Just...there. "It was interesting. You're talented. Are you ready to go?"  
  
Men. Argh. Was he not planning to ever give me a straight answer for anything? There was so much more in that empty voice that he hadn't said out loud.  
  
"I have to check some things out first, get my stuff, and find out what tomorrow's schedule is. Can you wait ten minutes?"  
  
Ranma just looked back at me. Like...'do I have a choice?' I guessed that meant yes.  
  
I whirled through the locker room at lightening speed. I was infringing on his life enough as it was, so I was going to try not to keep him waiting any longer than was needed. I grabbed my purse, (yup, I checked, the disks were still in there, safe and sound and still totally illegal) turned, and slammed into Gosunkugi.  
  
Great.  
  
I still hadn't really forgiven him for the episode with Ranma, but he had been trying to protect me, so I decided to be civil. "Is there something you wanted?"  
  
"Listen, Akane, you really should stay away from him."  
  
I threw up my hands in exasperation. "YOU listen, Gos. You've told me that a million times, and if you tell me again, I may have to punch you in the nose. I don't care if you trust him or not, but *I* trust him. I'm flattered that you're concerned, but I'm safe with Ranma. Even if he was willing to hurt someone else, which he wouldn't be, he wouldn't be willing to hurt me, and he won't let anything bad happen to me."  
  
He quailed under my verbal attack, but his determination wouldn't let him back down. Gos had been willing to go to great lengths in high school if he was determined to do something – no matter what you put in his way, he never gave up. I was reminded of when he was trying to find out Ranma's weakness; he may not have been physically strong, but the guy didn't quit.  
  
"Akane, you're letting your perceptions blur your vision. Just because you might...care about him doesn't mean he's a good person. And you still see the OLD Ranma. He's changed. Everything about him is different."  
  
"You're wrong." And the more I thought about it, the more I realized just how wrong he was, in two ways. First of all, I didn't just see the old Ranma. I saw the old and the new, melded together into a combination of the boy I had fallen in love with and the man who had risked his life to come back and help me when I needed it most. The second thought, tied to the first, was that Ranma really hadn't changed as much as I'd thought. Sure, he thought things through now; he was more mature and more relaxed and more grown-up and more quick-witted. But in the end, none of that stacked up against the fact that he still smiled at me the same way, comforted me the same way, cared about everyone the same way. Maybe he still cared about *me* the same way. But just for the moment, even that didn't matter, because what Gosunkugi had said wasn't about who Ranma loved, but who Ranma *was.* "You're wrong. Ranma is now and has always been no one but Ranma. And that Ranma is a far better person than I. He spends his life helping people, Gosunkugi. That's who he is. You're the one looking through the eyes of old judgments."  
  
He shook his head slowly, looking – of all things – brokenhearted. "You don't understand."  
  
"Maybe I don't. But at least I've tried."  
  
His gloomy face crumpled into a look I couldn't read. It held regret and fear and sadness and something else that warped all the other expressions into something new, like a tragedy brought about by a vast misunderstanding. "Take care of yourself, Akane. I can't change your mind, but no matter what I'll do anything it takes to keep you from being hurt. Even if you do trust him, watch your back. If you let him do all the protecting, he won't be around to do it for long. If you have faith in him, then you should protect him, too. I have the feeling this is something big. If what you say is right, and he *is* innocent, then someone else will be after you both. You may be the original target, but he's more dangerous to them – and they'll know it."  
  
I didn't know what to say. "Thank you, Gosunkugi."  
  
He gave me a one-shoulder shrug. "It doesn't really matter. I still think - "  
  
"Don't say it, Gos," I warned.  
  
He scuttled off behind the lockers, and after a moment I turned and left the room.  
  
For the first time in my life, I had a hard time forgetting the words and face of Gosunkugi Hikaru.  
  
-----------------------------------------------------------------------  
  
Ranma hadn't moved from where I'd left him, but the area around him was far more crowded. Nearly every female in the variety of plays was in the cluster around him, and each was flirting so madly for his attention that he couldn't get a word in edgewise. I felt my face flush and my pulse pick up, but told myself to stay calm. He'd dealt with this situation for most of his life, and it had probably gotten worse after he left Nerima and there were no Amazons or psycho gymnasts around to bash in the head of anyone who got near him. He's leaving with you, I reminded myself. But before that happened the way he dealt with a dozen beautiful women competing for a date with him would really enlighten me on some of the ways he'd changed.  
  
"What's your name?" Asked a voice in that excessively flirty coo that I'd always been irked by. The speaker's name was Amber. She was pretty, talented, and had never been turned down by a man in her life.  
  
Okay, so maybe I was a *little* jealous.  
  
I cleared my throat loudly and the eyes of the crowd jumped to me. "Are you ready to go?" I asked Ranma, too sweetly. I saw the girls fall into attack mode as they realized that their newfound dream might not be as free as they'd hoped. Amber, however, stayed calm; her face smoothly twisted into a smirk that said 'you think *you* can keep him if *I* want him?' My stomach clenched in nauseous anticipation; this was not going to be pretty.  
  
"Whenever you are," Ranma said casually. All of us turned our attention back to him.  
  
Amber plastered on a big fake smile and shimmied up beside him. "You can't go yet," She breathed in a lost-little-girl voice. "You haven't even told us your name."  
  
I rolled my eyes. "His name is Ranma Saotome." He caught my exasperation and sent me a tiny secret smile.  
  
"Ranma Saotome." Amber trailed a finger down the sleeve of his leather jacket, testing the name on her tongue. "An interesting name. Are you as fascinating as your name is, Ranma Saotome?"  
  
I could tell he was amused, but I didn't know if he was interested or not. "My name can barely keep up with my life."  
  
Amber smiled again, her best man-eater smile. "I'd like to become more familiar with your life as well. I bet you're a mystery."  
  
"No, that would be his occupation," I said crankily.  
  
Amber pursed her lips and looked up at Ranma again. "Hmm?"  
  
Ranma half-grinned. "I'm a fugitive apprehension agent. A bounty hunter."  
  
Amber's eyes widened, evidently not believing her luck. Sexy guy, sexy job, sexy name. "Well, we have a bit of a mystery here," she breathed. "There was a reporter who was murdered here yesterday morning. The police can't find any clues, but I bet *you* could."  
  
Boy, the girl was really laying it on thick. "He already knows about that," I informed her. "That's why I brought him here."  
  
"Ahhh." Amber smiled. "Well, I'll certainly feel safer knowing that. But what if someone is attacking the people from the play?" She turned to Ranma. "I'm so frightened. Will you take me home? I might need protection. You can come in for a nightcap...or something." The killer smile. "I'll make it worth your while."  
  
I had expected the flirting. I had not expected Amber to blatantly offer to sleep with him, and my heart cringed.  
  
"Sorry," Ranma said casually. "I'm busy tonight."  
  
"But you told Akane you would take her home." Amber made her eyes big and sad.  
  
"My plans happen to include Akane. She's the one who brought me into this case. I've known her for years."  
  
"So you're going to work on the case with her tonight?" Amber asked as Ranma came forward and guided me to the exit.  
  
"Actually, I was planning to work on the bed with her tonight."  
  
And he closed the door in her face.  
  
"Ranma!" I whisper-yelled, my face so bright red it was nearly giving off steam, "What the hell did you say that for?"  
  
"Well, it sounded like a far better way to spend the night than what she was proposing." His voice was light and joking, telling me he'd only said it to blow Amber off.  
  
I flushed again, but more from flattery then from anger. "You're a horrible liar," I told him.  
  
He gave me a predatory grin. "I lied about it being tonight," he said.  
  
-----------------------------------------------------------------------  
  
"Did you really mean it?" I asked him as I turned the key to my apartment and pushed open the door.  
  
"Mean what?" he asked, walking to stand beside me at the threshold.  
  
"What I meant was..." I stared up, down, around, anywhere but his eyes. The incident with Amber had convinced me that I needed to know how he felt about me. I was risking heartbreak, but even that would be better than an eternity of uncertainty. I took a deep breath. One, two, three, go. But subtly. "You could have gone home with Amber if you'd wanted to."  
  
"I didn't want to."  
  
"Why? She's pretty and talented and every other guy in the world would shoot themselves in the foot for the chance she offered you tonight."  
  
"So I should let others govern what I want?"  
  
"If you don't want that, what *do* you want?"  
  
He tilted my chin with cool fingers, forcing me to look into his eyes. I didn't want to be in love with him; I would lose my freedom forever in that cerulean gaze. But I hadn't been given a choice. Your heart is never considerate enough to consult with your brain on who you should fall for.  
  
"Do you really want to know?"  
  
I nodded.  
  
And he kissed me.  
  
I couldn't remember what I'd thought it would be like to kiss Ranma Saotome, but it didn't matter. The world around me vanished into a whirl of insignificance. My arms came around his neck as I kissed him back; his hands settled at my waist. The kiss had started gentle but warped into passionate. The distractions were gone, the fights were gone, the murder was gone. All that mattered was the fact that I was wrapped in the embrace of a man who had made my life into an experience that was unimaginable. This was where I belonged, this was where I was safe, this was where I wanted to spend the rest of my life. With the one person who could make me feel like I wasn't alone.  
  
When the kiss was over, I stared up at him. He was breathless, but I thought that it was more from his loss of control than lack of air – although the latter no doubt contributed. My senses were giddy; all I could do was stare up at him in confusion. The setting was real but what was going on around me seemed surreal.  
  
"Akane," he said softly, "I - "  
  
When it came, the explosion seemed in slow motion. The bright light from my apartment drew our eyes as the shock and the fire sent each other pulsing out at what must have really been a blinding speed. Ranma whirled between me and the door, shielding me with his body and jumping toward the other side of the hall as the momentum of the blast slammed into us. Tongues of fire laced around him and he yelled in pain; we were thrown into a heap on the opposite wall. My head cracked against the paneling.  
  
My world exploded into light, then faded into black.  
  
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END OF CHAPTER 4 (Cliffhanger? What cliffhanger?)  
  
Okay, PLEASE review. I LOVE reviews. And emails. My email address is nakigoe_chan@hotmail.com. I respond to all emails – so if you've emailed me or requested an email before, and you didn't get one, send me a blistering email now, even though I responded to all emails and email requests that I actually *received* so if you didn't get something from me...blame hotmail. But I really do care what you think...although, to be honest, my ego (when it comes to writing) is rather delicate, so please – C & C is fine, but no flames. I'm already worried that I suck, so you don't need to reinforce it. ^_^  
  
IN CHAPTER 5: HIGH FIVE:  
  
What happened? Is everyone okay? Why did the evil nakigoe-chan give Akane a BOYFRIEND?! (GASP! O.o) Why do nakigoe-chan's friends and prereaders keep sending her death threats? (Hint [or, okay, giveaway]: High Five's cliffhanger!) All this and more in HIGH FIVE! Stick around! (And yes, it's done and being edited. Heck, AY6 is more than 50% written! We're a little ahead of ourselves...)  
  
Inspiration will be coming on fast two weeks from now...I mean, where can you get more anime inspiration then Japan, which happens to be where nakigoe-chan is going? Yay! I'm so excited! (Be afraid, anime stores. Be very afraid...) The, of course, there's Otakon in two months...  
  
Ja ne for now!  
  
~ nakigoe-chan 


	5. High Five

WOW, MINNA-SAN! I must say, your reviews have been so wonderful. When I posted chapter 4 it was final exam time here in the world of us high school students, and I was afraid and insecure and all too happy to pour out those thoughts into my author's notes. Your reviews were so encouraging - so many of them just put me in a good mood the whole day. Also, thanks out to those who gave me tips on my trip to Japan, which was, of course, one of those brilliant and unforgettable experiences that I could write about forever about but won't because I know you're about to skip over so you can go read what is coming up next...  
  
--------------  
  
AFTER YOU  
  
Chapter 5: High Five  
  
By: nakigoe-chan  
  
--------------  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
Last time you called me late at night you were naked and chained to your shower curtain rod. I hope this isn't going to be disappointing.  
  
- Ranger, Janet Evanovich's 'High Five'  
  
Stephanie: That's the Porsche. It exploded and caught fire and then the garbage truck fell over on it. Ranger: I especially like the part about the garbage truck.  
  
- Again, from Janet Evanovich's 'High Five'  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
I remember brief flashes of what happened after that; foggy images that wove themselves into a disorienting collage as I fell in and out of unconsciousness. Voices rose and fell around me and I picked up bits and pieces.  
  
[...huge fireball, I've never seen anything like that...]  
  
[...gas leak? Or maybe a kitchen accident...]  
  
[...can't believe anyone's alive, there were two people right outside the door, thrown across the hall...]  
  
[...is that guy dead? He looks like it...]  
  
[...lucky the whole building didn't go up in flames along with that apartment...]  
  
[...are the EMTs here yet?...]  
  
The words all sounded the same to me; I had no idea what was going on. I remembered Ranma screaming in pain. I remembered the explosion. I remembered the kiss.  
  
My head was full of smoke; my limbs wouldn't move. And the only thought occupying my mind was the fact that I didn't know how badly Ranma had been hurt. He could have been only scratched; he could have been mutilated. He could have been dead. Not only that, Nabiki and Joey must have been in the apartment. I could have lost all three.  
  
My mind raced away from that thought and from all others as it decided to return to oh-so-simple unconsciousness. Life was easier to deal with when one had no thoughts at all.  
  
-----------------------------------------------------------------------  
  
When I awoke, I sensed a comforting and familiar presence above me. You just have a sixth sense for those things, the way a child awakens after a long car drive just as the parents pull up to the house.  
  
Then again, maybe it was the dog breath.  
  
My eyes slowly opened, then snapped shut again. Okay. Not going to try that again. Evil bright light particles. I counted to ten and tried again, this time managing to make it to the slit-eye expression. Evidently the presence above me decided I was awake enough, because I got a big lick in the face.  
  
"Eee-yuuuuh! Jo-eeeeeey!" I'm sure there are those of you out there who love being licked in the face by your dog. I don't mind being licked, but not in the face. I can't get the image of where those dogs stick their faces when they run into *other* dogs out of my head. So sue me.  
  
"You could show a little appreciation for the amount of effort and haggling it took to get that stupid mutt in here in the first place." It was Nabiki's voice and (as I saw when my eyes opened further) Nabiki's face, complete with Nabiki's smirk.  
  
"Nabiki!" I wanted to cry with relief, but I was all cried out. I wanted to hug her, but my legs and arms still didn't appear to be working. So I gave up and doled out the classic line: "You're alive!"  
  
"As much joy as that little fact brings me, why wouldn't I be?"  
  
"I thought you were in the apartment."  
  
"Joey and I were, as ironic as it may seem, checking out some real estate. And I found a house, too. Good timing, huh?"  
  
"Nabs, has anyone ever told you that you're the best?"  
  
"I believe that real estate is one of the few areas where I have yet to establish my superiority."  
  
"Nabs, you're the best."  
  
"I appreciate the sentiment, but if you call me Nabs again I'm going to have to kill you, and then your little stalker/homicidal maniac will be cranky at *me.*"  
  
I took a big breath. Whoa, the room was pitching and rolling and making me nauseated. Another big breath. The room didn't stop, but it slowed considerably, or at least enough to ask the big question.  
  
"Is Ranma okay?"  
  
"Define 'okay.'"  
  
Not the answer I was hoping for, apparently. There was that stupid nauseating feeling again.  
  
Nabiki must have seen my terror, because she quickly explained. "What I mean is, he's not dead or missing any limbs or anything, but he's in considerably worse shape than you, since he was apparently standing between you and the door. His back is gonna have a few permanent scars from the burns, but otherwise he'll be mostly okay in a few days. That was what the doctor told me, anyway, and you know how much faster than normal people Ranma heals." She came and sat on the edge of the hospital bed and touched my hand. Her voice was soft. This was the non-joking, non-scheming, non- greedy Nabiki I had so little experience with but loved so much. This was Nabiki the sister. "He's going to be okay, Akane-chan," she told me, and I could see that she knew how much it meant.  
  
I leaned back, trembling. Ranma had been seriously hurt - had risked death - for me. Yet again. It frightened me on a level the murderer, whoever it was, could never hope to match. Being the reason for Ranma's death would have utterly destroyed me.  
  
"What happened?"  
  
"Well technically no one knows yet, but they've ruled out everything but an accident or a bomb. You weren't boiling gasoline over a high-powered stove, were you? If not, my bet's with bomb, since you already have at least one wacko after you."  
  
If Nabiki was willing to put money on it, then there was no doubt left in my mind.  
  
I sat up. "Can I see Ranma?"  
  
"You aren't allowed to get up. He's not allowed to get up. My guess would be, not yet."  
  
"They've managed to keep him in bed?"  
  
"When I left they were debating the values of sleeping gas versus those restraining strap things."  
  
"Ahh." I took note of my surroundings. "Who brought all the flowers?" For my room, I discovered, was full of pink roses.  
  
"I don't know. You've been asleep for nearly twenty-four hours. I came in right when I heard, which was about a half-hour after you were checked in here, and then two hours later I left to deal with all this police stuff. When I came back in another three hours this place had been attacked by the Hallmark brigade."  
  
"Is there a card?"  
  
"Now that you mention it, yeah. And no, I didn't read it. Don't ask me why." She passed me the card and leaned back with a Starbucks frappachino to watch. I slit open the envelope with sore red fingers, unfolded the letter inside, and read it silently.  
  
Akane:  
  
When my father called me to tell me that you had been severely injured in an explosion, my heart stopped. I have never been so terrified in my life. The hospital staff would not let anyone other than family members into your room. My father let me sneak in when he came to check up on you about three hours after you got in, but the nurses kicked me out again. What on earth happened? I pray that you are all right. Hospital rooms are always so dreary; I hope you enjoy the flowers.  
  
Anthony  
  
Anthony was the man who I had been dating off and on for the past year, and whose father happened to be my doctor. Currently the dating status was on - I had been so wrapped up in the murder and Ranma that I'd completely forgotten about him. But he was someone I cared for - and, in all honesty, Anthony was the kind of man I'd always imagined I would fall in love with. I wasn't there yet, but it had potential. He was sweet and thoughtful and well-educated, which were all things Ranma's personality did not often embody.  
  
In the end, my mind said, Anthony was marriage material and Ranma was not.  
  
I shriveled from that thought, but I knew that it was pretty much true. Falling for Ranma had been an accident. Not a mistake, but not a smart thing to do, either. I hadn't been given a choice. Should I let myself fall into that trap again? Loving Ranma terrified me, because it had so much potential to leave me brokenhearted - again. I could see Anthony and I with a family; I could see us together in our old age. I could not see Ranma as old at all; he was all energy, all life, all exotic experience and experimentation. And I could not see Ranma as tying himself to anything or anyone. He was too restless, too chaotic.  
  
For the first time since he had come back, I let myself admit that while I did still love Ranma, a relationship with him would probably not be in my best interests - or in his, if he wanted to stay who he was.  
  
My heart was breaking all over again, and this time it was even more my fault. I was losing him, and this time I knew that if I wanted, I could keep him.  
  
It just wouldn't work.  
  
But that just wasn't fair.  
  
"Akane?"  
  
I looked up at the forgotten Nabiki. She was staring at me in quizzical concern.  
  
"Akane, why are you crying?"  
  
I wiped away the unnoticed tears. "It's nothing."  
  
She didn't believe me, but she let it drop at that. "Who are the flowers from?"  
  
"My boyfriend."  
  
Nabiki had never been the face-fault type, but if she had she would have gone right through the floor. "Your WHAT?!"  
  
"My boyfriend." My voice was very steady and detached, as if coming from far away. It certainly didn't sound to me as if it was coming from my mouth.  
  
"YOU HAVE A *BOYFRIEND*!?!"  
  
"Yes."  
  
"But - but what - I mean, I thought - "  
  
"You thought what? Me and Ranma?"  
  
Nabiki was floundering (would wonders never cease?). "Well, yes..."  
  
"Not bloody likely." I had no idea why I said that. It just popped out, and it sounded sharp and grating even to my disjointed ears.  
  
Nabiki's eyes darted around through my gaze. I had never seen her look so sad, not even when I went to see her after Dad had told her that she was a disgrace to the family. "But I thought you *loved* him," Nabiki whispered.  
  
"Maybe I did. Or *do,* or whatever. But I can't have a relationship or a future with him, and trying to have either will just make both of us miserable." I heard the door open as the doctor came in behind me. "I have someone now who I might actually have a future with, and I am not going to throw that away for someone who will just run off again - and leave me miserable again."  
  
Nabiki was gaping at me. No, wait, that wasn't right - she was gaping *beyond* me, at the person standing in the doorway. I turned and found myself staring at -  
  
Ranma. Of course.  
  
That mask was really starting to irk me, but not at that particular moment. The mask was there now because it had something to hide. Love, pain, loss, whatever. It was there because something else was there, something else that he didn't want me to see.  
  
I braced myself for a witty, scathing comment. I knew I deserved it. He'd certainly heard my last comment, and I waited with baited breath for a return meant to hurt me as much as I'd just hurt him.  
  
But he just gave me a long stare, said, "Sorry for interrupting," walked out, and closed the door very softly with a barely audible click. I longed to slam that stupid door; the click only heightened my nerves.  
  
A hurtful, sarcastic remark would have been easier to bear. I was braced for it; it would have made me cry and wail and feel ashamed, but while his actual response accomplished only the last, it doled out the shame in epic proportions. I lay back on the bed with my knees brought up to my chest and wrapped my arms around them for protection. My nose was clogged up and I sniffled. My eyes burned horribly but the tears refused to come and bring them relief.  
  
Ranma was like an addiction, I decided - he brought me relief when I had him, parting with him brought about need and pain like never before, but in the end, if I could get through it all and get along without him, I'd be much healthier.  
  
Nabiki was staring from me to the door and back again. She looked as if she expected the whole scene to rewind and play itself differently; her deep breaths betrayed her thoughts: 'okay, so we had a little fluke; we'll try it again and everything will be okay.'  
  
Everything will be okay. Yeah, right. On top of everything, this was just too much.  
  
Joey apparently had no opinion. He was eating one of the plastic surgical smocks.  
  
The tears finally came, and as I leaned back I fell away once more into the darkness of my subconscious.  
  
-----------------------------------------------------------------------  
  
When I awoke Anthony's face was smiling down at me. I had woken to another man's face the previous morning; why had that face brought me so much more of a sense of safety and contentment than this one did, even if it didn't matter - since I didn't have a choice?  
  
"Good morning, sleepyhead."  
  
I managed a weak smile. "Is it still morning?"  
  
"Barely. I'm glad you're awake. I can tell my cardiac system to start up again." I laughed softly. It rang fake in my ears, but Anthony didn't seem to notice. "I was going to come sooner, but I couldn't get out of work." He worked for a program called 'America's Youth' that helped teens on the street. The program reached out to the runaways who of course shied away from the other programs that all encouraged them to go home. Anthony's program helped kids with no questions asked, and had apparently been a godsend to kids who had run away from homes where they were abused or neglected and who didn't want to risk having to go back. Usually the social workers who worked there could eventually convince the kids to go home, too, making it more effective. But the fact that they got the kids confidence and kept it had probably saved more kids than all the other pushy programs that tried harder to get the kids home but wound up alienating them. The America's Youth program not only got most of the kids home, but also managed to get them and their families whatever help or counseling was needed. Anthony had started out as a volunteer, risen among the ranks, and eventually wound up taking over the program with the help of his father, who was a very influential community figure not to mention a distinguished and successful doctor.  
  
"That's alright. I was asleep anyway, so I wouldn't have known the difference."  
  
Anthony's face was concerned and rather rueful. He brushed some sandy- brown hair out of his green eyes. He really was handsome, I thought, even if he wasn't on Ranma's level. *No one* was on Ranma's level. "I knew the difference. I've never been so stressed in my life."  
  
"Well, it's nice to know there's someone out there who's concerned about me." I said with a smile. It wasn't a big smile, but it was my first sincere one.  
  
"From what I hear, you've got a guardian angel. Were you really saved by some random guy who put himself between you and the explosion?"  
  
I didn't expect the sharp flash of annoyed anger that came with his words, but it was there all the same. "He wasn't some *random guy,*" I said, my voice tinged with warning. "His name is Ranma Saotome, and he's an old friend who Nabiki called the day before yesterday because of everything that's been happening."  
  
Anthony's voice was conciliatory, and it cooled my temper. "I'll have to stop by his room and say thank you."  
  
Anthony and Ranma, meeting each other? Whoa boy. Hell on earth, ladies and gentlemen. Apocalypse *NOW.*  
  
"I don't know...that may not be such a fantastic idea."  
  
"Why not?"  
  
Uh-oh. Excuse time. And since I'd never told Anthony about Ranma - and, more importantly, our history - the truth (that they would tear each other to pieces) was out of the question.  
  
"He's very busy, and kind of antisocial...he doesn't do thanks well. Or conversation, for that matter."  
  
"What she means," came Ranma's calm voice from the doorway, "is that she doesn't want you to feed my ego, which she believes is more than big enough already."  
  
Anthony turned, caught sight of Ranma, and took a step backward. That was the typical response from men when confronted with Ranma. The typical woman response, of course, was to check to make sure that she still had all her clothes on, and upon finding that they were, have a rush of both relief and regret.  
  
"So," Anthony said, "you must be the famous savior."  
  
Ranma gave a barely perceptible nod.  
  
Anthony rocked back and forth on his heels, clearly standing his ground but at a loss of what to say. "I would like to express my gratitude," he ventured, "for rescuing someone very dear to me."  
  
Ranma gazed stonily at him. I could see Anthony mentally shiver under the icy stare fixed on him. And then I felt it, at the same moment I saw it in his eyes...the Soul of Ice technique had sent the temperature down several degrees, and of course Anthony would have no idea why.  
  
And then Ranma's gaze slid past Anthony and onto me.  
  
I could have dealt with rage. I could have taken jealousy, resentment, or cool, simmering anger. I could have taken any wrath. He could have ranted at me, raved at me, and I would have shriveled with pain, but I could have taken it. It would have broken my heart, but I could have taken it. I could even have survived if I had seen hatred in those eyes; if they had held unforgiving revulsion I still would have lived with it.  
  
But this - no, not this. I died at what I saw in those eyes. His gaze clawed me to ragged pieces and left nothing but tattered remnants of what had once been my heart.  
  
His eyes had gone slate-grey; he stared at me with only blank, vacant, 'do- I-know-you?' disinterest.  
  
All of a sudden I was just another job; just another person to protect. I was just another obligation; just another nuisance.  
  
I saw, in those eyes, that I was no longer a part of the soul that lay behind them.  
  
The feeling inside me was too sharp for tears. Tears would do it no justice.  
  
So I simply turned my face away.  
  
Anthony noticed none of this. "Can I buy you a beer or something?" He asked Ranma.  
  
"I don't drink," Ranma said.  
  
"Oh," said Anthony. "How about coffee?"  
  
"No thanks."  
  
Good God, they were both so stupid. Why did they both care about me? It simply branded them both as fools.  
  
At which point Nabiki rushed in. She froze and took in the room's occupants. She looked first at Ranma, then at Anthony, then back and forth a few more times, like she was watching the ball at a tennis match. Ranma, Anthony, back and forth and back and forth and back, to rest her gaze on Ranma.  
  
"So," she said cheerfully, perky and false. "What's up?"  
  
-----------------------------------------------------------------------  
  
"I don't like him."  
  
"You've just *met* him. How could you have judged him already?"  
  
"You think I don't know people?"  
  
"You don't know *him!*"  
  
Nabiki sighed with evident intense aggravation. "I don't *need* to know him."  
  
"What?"  
  
"Look, most of the time I go with my head. But occasionally I go with my gut. It rarely happens, but I get a vibe, you know? There are things you don't need to be told. And right now my gut says you should go for Ranma, not Anthony."  
  
"Why do *you* give a shit?" I said in a cranky voice. "Since when have you been looking out for me?"  
  
"The truth is, in this situation it isn't all you."  
  
"Huh?"  
  
Nabiki grabbed me by the elbow and pulled me around to face her. "Wake up, little sister! Your relationships are about more than just *you.* They're about the other person, too! I'm looking out for both of you on this one, because I owe it to Ranma."  
  
Wait. Did Nabiki just say the word 'owe' in context with herself?  
  
"You *owe* him? Since when do you owe anyone, especially Ranma? I would have thought *he* owed *you.*"  
  
"This isn't about money," Nabiki said.  
  
"Then what is it about?"  
  
"Humanity."  
  
I snorted.  
  
"You think that's funny?" She asked. "Alright. So name one friend I've had in the past ten years."  
  
I froze. I thought...  
  
And I came up blank.  
  
"You've had friends. I mean, I haven't seen you that often in so long, so why would I know who your friends are?"  
  
She rolled her eyes. "Okay. So name one friend I had in high school."  
  
She had me cornered and she knew it. "You..."  
  
"...had none. I didn't deserve any, to be quite honest, because everyone who trusted me found themselves exploited. And none of them were about to forgive me for it. I didn't deserve that forgiveness, and they knew it. *I* knew it. And so they weren't about to give that forgiveness. Except Ranma."  
  
"Ranma?" I managed weakly.  
  
"Yes. Ranma. You know, the Ranma who I hurt and humiliated and exploited every chance I got. The Ranma who knew what it was like to be totally alone. The Ranma who I made my victim more than anyone else. The Ranma who, after everything I'd done to make him miserable, was the only one willing to give me a second chance. That Ranma."  
  
I could only gape at her, but she continued without verbal prompting.  
  
"After he left, I received an email from him - god, I didn't even know the boy knew what a computer *was* - asking how much he owed me. I sent a scathing reply saying screw the money, why did he leave us, and most especially, you. He replied with a list of reasons. We had consistent computer debates about it, until our correspondence was no longer about his departure whatsoever. We became friends, saw each other in person again, and suddenly I wasn't alone anymore. We've stayed friends since - probably best friends. He's certainly the best friend *I* ever had, even after he moved here and we didn't see all that much of each other anymore."  
  
I couldn't believe it! Eight years, and she'd never bothered to tell me any of this! "So why don't *you* go marry him?" I said through gritted teeth.  
  
"For the purest and simplest of reasons," she replied. "I figured out what all of his fiancées of the past couldn't. I want him to be happy. His happiness depends on marrying someone he's in love with. And he, my dear little sister, is still madly in love with you. And at the end of the day, I'm not *in love* with him. I love him, but not that way."  
  
Man, when things got crazy and confusing, EVERYTHING just went down the toilet. I mean, because the two people I trusted most had reappeared in my life I had more emotional problems then the rest of my life combined! And the little voice in the back of my head, which I was beginning to suspect might actually be my brain, was whispering that everything was likely to get worse before it got better.  
  
-----------------------------------------------------------------------  
  
Nabiki had booked a hotel room while we waited for the paperwork to come through on her new house. Anthony had offered to let us stay at his house, but Nabiki had jumped in and declined before I'd had a chance to open my mouth. Secretly I was relieved; I didn't want to hurt Anthony's feelings but I didn't want to stay at his house, either. It would have felt too intimate, too invasive, too soon.  
  
My apartment was in shambles. When the hospital realized that they weren't going to be able to keep us there any longer, Anthony had taken Nabiki, Ranma, Joey and I back to the apartment.  
  
It was a disaster, of course. It would have to be entirely rebuilt. The walls were either charred and misshapen or gone altogether. The neighbors' walls were damaged and there was a hole in the floor.  
  
On top of all my emotional problems, this was just too much. I sank to the ground. My home was gone. It wasn't as special as the place back in Nerima, but it was a symbol of my independence and all the progress I'd made. Just when I thought I'd started to get back on my feet on the money front things would get worse. I sank to the floor with a whimper. Anthony came and put his arms around me while Ranma and Nabiki watched from several feet away. Ranma's blue gaze was awash with pity, but he didn't come closer.  
  
Get used to it, I told the miserable feeling inside my chest that wanted to be in Ranma's arms instead of Anthony's. Because this is the way it has to be.  
  
-----------------------------------------------------------------------  
  
The hotel was full; we could get no more rooms. We only had the one that Nabiki had already booked. And so Ranma had decided to go home for the night.  
  
He had assured us that the hotel security was fine and that he would have someone watching us all night to make sure. Nabiki and I protested loudly, but he insisted that he really did have to go home; however, we managed to coerce him into coming over to check out the room and then into staying around for a drink.  
  
Nabiki and I amused ourselves by acting terrified and insisting that he check under the bed, behind the shower curtain, etc. He knew we were faking, we knew that he knew, and he knew that we knew that he knew, but nonetheless it lightened the mood. And the mood really did need some lightening.  
  
You can't live in denial forever, especially when if you do you stand a good chance of not living that long. But I had had far too much reality for my taste in the past few days, and reality was sure as hell starting to wear thin. So after a few minutes of talking, I gave a weary smile and told them I was going to go take a shower and then head for bed. Nabiki told me I really needed one. Ranma said nothing, and I didn't look at him.  
  
The bathroom was neat and elegant. My bathroom at home had always been a wreak - bottles all over the place, lotion and shampoo spills, ugly colored tiles. Somehow I felt as if this bathroom was mocking me - what had I really lost? Nothing that was worth more than emotional value. It just made everything worse. I unwrapped a fresh bar of soap and stared at it, feeling like a traitor to the smoldering ruins I had left behind. I snorted; I was personifying my bland, two room apartment. And then I cried.  
  
"Akane?" Nabiki's voice came through the door. "Are you okay? The water isn't running, and that's usually necessary when you're taking a shower."  
  
I managed to force out a mumbled 'fine' and flushed the toilet so they'd think I'd had to go to the bathroom.  
  
I turned on the water and stared at it for a full minute before getting in. Then I realized that I still had my clothes on and burst out laughing. It wasn't until I'd gotten them off that I realized I was crying again. This was hell.  
  
I scrubbed and scrubbed, hoping that whatever made me so miserable could be washed down the drain. The bubbles went down the drain. The water went down the drain. The misery was the exception that proved the rule. It did not go down the drain.  
  
Damn.  
  
I didn't step out of the shower until long after the water would have started to turn cold, had we been in a house with a limit on supply. I hoped that Nabiki didn't need a shower tonight.  
  
I wrapped myself in a towel and sat down on the floor, staring at the tiles and listening to the dull whir of the fan. I thought about nothing at all, contenting myself with simple existence. Someone was trying to kill me in a variety of dramatic ways. They hadn't given up - they weren't taking any chances on me. Why? I didn't know anything, and even if I did the police wouldn't believe me - I was already a suspect.  
  
I heard Ranma's cell phone chirp through the door and I heard him answer it. The words were too muffled to hear.  
  
My stomach grumbled, and I realized that I hadn't eaten anything at all in more than twenty-four hours. I was starving. And hey, food is a comfort. I needed comfort.  
  
I wrapped the towel tighter around myself and stepped out of the bathroom. Ranma and Naiki were still hidden from my view by a wall, but I could hear their conversation.  
  
"That was the phone people," Ranma said.  
  
"Which would explain why they didn't email you."  
  
"Ha, ha. They called to say that they have conformation."  
  
"Conformation?"  
  
"The phone company records all the telephone calls that were made. Not what was said, you know, but who calls who."  
  
"I know that, Brain Trust. Why do we care?"  
  
"I don't know what significance there is, but the phone call was indeed made. At 2:02 a.m. the day before yesterday, Hiroshi made his last phone call to Akane's apartment."  
  
"That's great!"  
  
"Not necessarily."  
  
"Why? It proves he called her, like she said!"  
  
"It also proves that she probably knew where he was, and they haven't got that for anyone else."  
  
"Someone's trying to kill her!"  
  
"It could be unrelated. The bullets that were shot into Hiroshi's apartment match those of the bullets and the gun that killed him. Hiroshi was targeted with a thirty-eight. Whoever is after Akane packs a 9mm."  
  
"And bombs."  
  
"Some kind of explosives, anyway."  
  
"What really happened?"  
  
"We went up to her apartment. We were talking about one of her coworkers."  
  
"And then?"  
  
"I must have hit my head. Retrograde amnesia, or something. Because she asked me why I hadn't gone with that Amber woman..."  
  
"And...?"  
  
"And after that, I don't remember a thing." ----------------------------------------------------------------------- END OF PART FIVE  
  
PLEASE review or mail me at nakigoe_chan@hotmail.com! I want to know what you think!  
  
In Chapter Six: Hot Six: More clues turn up, but may just make things more confusing. Akane and Ranma have a disagreement, Anthony and Ranma have a disagreement, and Gos gets himself in dangerous trouble. Oh, and people seem to think that this might be leading up to something lemony. Now, I won't say that there is no IMPLIED, ahem, action (don't count your chickens on who is with who!) but I cannot and will not write an After You lemon - I'd be too embarrassed. Heehee.  
  
I've gotten the general impression, somehow, that my cliffhangers are thought of by my readers as a bit of a bad thing. Now, I have dealt with my share of authors with a fetish for cliffhangers, and it drives me bonkers, too. And since I am a very kind, understanding person, my reaction, of course, is hahahahahahaha. Because I have discovered exactly WHY they put cliffhangers in. It's FUN!  
  
But you can't blame me for this one. See, when one of my prereaders, Chris, read chapter four, he told me, "You know, since victims of traumatizing accidents such as this one often lose memory of time right before said accident, you would be entirely justified if one or both of them forgot this whole thing ever happened."  
  
I said, "Heh, heh, heh."  
  
Of course, Chris ALSO innocently suggested a possible crime and criminal(s) to which I had to reply with the standard "I am going to hunt you down and kill you," because Chris (damn you, Chris, ^_~) had, of course, gotten it exactly right. So this chapter goes out to the guy too smart for his own good. ^_^ Of course, he's read more of the story than you all.  
  
And Chris isn't the only brilliant prereader I'm lucky enough to have catching my falls: there's also Diana, Natalia, Greg, and Alissa, although she seems to be MIA (Alissa, if you read this, send me an email!) and they are fantastic. Thanks, guys! And then of course there are those in the AY brigade who are trying to kill me: Whitney, Yueling, Carlen, Mariel, and Hilda. They're mad about the ending of chapter six, which I have of course already written.  
  
I decided to post this today because it is exactly one month after Janet Evanovich's 'Hard Eight' came out and exactly eighteen years after I was born. I'm a legal adult. Oh, good God, watch me panic. I'm not an adult. sigh  
  
People seem to like this fic enough to host it on their sites! This story (so far) resides at the brilliant websites of...  
  
D-Chan: www.geocities.com/ayongedarling Karen Lee: www.karsquare.150m.com/ranma/ranmaindex.htm  
  
Yay! Thanks, minna-san! Anyone who wants to host AY is pretty much welcome to, but I'd appreciate it if you emailed me and asked anyway.  
  
I hope you enjoyed chapter five enough to keep your eyes peeled for chapter six. Ja ne for now!  
  
~ nakigoe-chan 


	6. Hot Six

HAH! I BET YOU ALL THOUGHT I WAS DEAD!!  
  
Well, I'm not. I've just been busy, and lazy, and...(mutters) I'mwritingthisotherficandI'mhavingfunwithitand...  
  
Ah, well, no excuses. Here it is...I hope you enjoy it, and please R & R!  
  
Thanks to my prereaders: Diana, Natalia, Greg, and Chris. You guys ARE the best.  
  
Ranma ½ belongs to Rumiko Takahashi. If you don't know that, then you're obviously in the wrong place.  
  
--------------  
  
AFTER YOU  
  
Chapter 6: Hot Six  
  
By: nakigoe-chan  
  
--------------  
  
Nabiki and I were waiting for Ranma in our hotel room, contemplating the wonders of packaged ramen.  
  
Sure, the taste could use some work and it sure didn't *look* glamorous and it was nothing but noodles and broth - talk about boring.  
  
But it was edible, and it was only 49 cents. At this hotel, a glass of orange juice was something like $4.50. And we were not that stupid. Your average coral fragment is not that stupid. *Joey* is not that stupid, which is saying a lot. Joey is not known for his mental revelations.  
  
I looked down at him. He was lying on the rug at my feet in the hotel room's little improve-kitchen, obstructing four of the perhaps six square feet it offered. The bedroom was huge, but the kitchen could only have claimed to be the ideal size for two cranky sisters to attempt to cook breakfast in if, say, we happened to be gerbils. And even if we had been, we'd have been pissed off anyway at our inability to reach the counter. So Joey's fat little arse wasn't helping.  
  
I told him to get out of the kitchen. He didn't understand me, but he probably knew what I wanted. His response was to tightly close his eyes and pretend to be asleep. I groaned and gave up.  
  
"What doesn't he remember?"  
  
My head snapped up. "Huh?"  
  
Nabiki was leaning sideways on the counter, trying to see into the side cabinet. She looked like one of those circus contortionists.  
  
"The explosion," the cabinet said in Nabiki's voice. "What doesn't he remember? Or don't you remember, either?"  
  
I gave a bitter laugh. "Oh, I remember."  
  
Her head came out of the cabinet, Nabiki's mouth twisted into an evil grin, and I realized I'd let on a lot more than I'd intended. "So," she said with that familiar glint in her eye. "What *besides* the explosion doesn't he remember?"  
  
"Nothing."  
  
"You're lying," she said confidently, putting her head back in.  
  
"Am not."  
  
"Are too."  
  
"Am not."  
  
"Are too."  
  
"HE KISSED ME, ALRIGHT?! JEEZ! MIND YOUR OWN FUCKING BUSINESS!"  
  
From inside the cabinet I heard an excited squeal, closely followed by a bump and a string of colorful swear words. "He *kissed* you?" Nabiki shrieked when she managed to get her head out. She was rubbing what would obviously be a painful bump, but she was grinning from ear to ear. "Really?"  
  
"Does it matter?" I asked.  
  
She opened her mouth to reply in the obvious affirmative, then her brain caught up with her and she remembered that a) I had decided that Ranma was NOT the guy for me, b) I had a boyfriend, and c) Ranma didn't remember anyhow.  
  
"Yes," she said anyway.  
  
And, as always, she was right.  
  
At first it had been devastating that he didn't remember. Heart-wrenching, soul-crushing, whatever. But in the end, I realized, it would save him some pain - and for me, that made the situation suddenly all right.  
  
Now if only *I* could forget.  
  
Nabiki and I spent three minutes slopping the now-overdone noodles and broth into the two wimpy little bowls the cabinet offered us, carried them unsteadily toward the main room, and simultaneously screeched at the top of our lungs when we turned into the bedroom/lounge room and found Ranma sitting in one of the chairs.  
  
"Hey, ladies," he greeted us. "Happy to see me?"  
  
"You wish!" Nabiki scowled, plunking herself down in the seat next to him. "You have to stop sneaking up on people. It's rude. We have to get you a foghorn or something."  
  
"I don't think so. Bad for business. How'd you sleep?"  
  
"Not at all. You should have stayed. I was scared out of my wits."  
  
"Awww. Poor little Nabs, Damsel in Distress. I had someone watching you. How would it have helped to have me here, asleep?"  
  
"We could have had Akane keep you awake." Nabiki offered with a smirk.  
  
Ranma coughed and blushed while I choked on my ramen. Nabiki assumed an innocent smile. "What?" She asked, all bland and blameless. "You guys have something against board games and TV?"  
  
"Funny, Nabs."  
  
"Don't *call* me that. Akane did it yesterday. You know that it pisses the hell out of me." "And we all know that you have a lot of hell *in* you. But you deserved it."  
  
"That's cold."  
  
"So eat your ramen. That's hot. You didn't bring me into this case for charming commentary."  
  
"No," Nabiki said, "I brought you in because I trust you."  
  
There was a moment of silence.  
  
Ranma sighed. "I'm not sure where to go from here," he said. "I can't find any more leads. Streets are quiet."  
  
Nabiki looked puzzled. "Are they usually?"  
  
Ranma shook his head. "No. They're too quiet. The cops are ignoring the fact that something dark is going down."  
  
"Why?" I piped in for the first time.  
  
Ranma leaned back and looked at me. "They want to ignore it. Dealers are leaving town, or winding up with bullets in their heads. Someone has them on the run. Somethin' is goin' on, and the victims - the dealers - can't say anything about it."  
  
"Why not?"  
  
"Hell, Akane, would you put a lot of faith in the testimony of a drug dealer?"  
  
"No, but if they're getting *killed*..."  
  
"People are looking the other way," Ranma shrugged. "Streets are safer for kids and little old ladies. Talked to a friend in the force this morning. He told me that even if someone's playing vigilante, the chief probably won't do anything. There's too much crime for them to handle anyway - someone not on the payroll is running around helping, they aren't gonna put a stop to it."  
  
"But being vigilante is illegal, right?"  
  
Ranma shrugged again. "Yeah, sure, but they don't really care. They have bigger shit to deal with."  
  
I looked down at my ramen. "Do you think that maybe this is connected to Hiroshi? Like, he discovered who the vigilante person was, or something?"  
  
Ranma studied me carefully. "It's crossed my mind."  
  
Nabiki's mouth twisted at the side. "If he did, then why would he get killed? I mean, let's say he hypothetically finds out who the vigilante is. The dealers don't want him dead, 'cause he might be saving their butts. The vigilante is supposedly someone who only kills the bad guys, so why would *he* do it? To protect himself, maybe, but then again that would screw his whole little noble deal. So where's the motive to kill this one little reporter?"  
  
Ranma shook his head. "It's gotta be more than that. The cops are sayin' vigilante, but my gut tells me it's something else. There's more to this than one little guy thinking he's Zorro."  
  
"So where do we go from here?" I asked.  
  
Ranma stood up. "I think we should go call on Jim Weaver. See if we can get anything else out of him. Then I think I should hit the streets, ask a few questions."  
  
-----------------------------------------------------------------------  
  
We made our way down the hall of the Post to the office of the sour-faced reporter. Nabiki had insisted upon "seeing this one" which had also necessitated bringing Joey. Weaver came to stand in his doorway and, to our surprise, grinned when he saw us. Then he opened his mouth, and we knew why.  
  
"I heard you two got yourselves blown up day before yesterday. Why couldn't you make a complete job of it and bite the goddamned dust?"  
  
"Good morning, Mr. Weaver, I'm thrilled to find you in good health as well. We were wondering if we could ask you a few more questions."  
  
"No." SLAM.  
  
Ranma sighed and yanked the door back open. "I'm going to get cranky..."  
  
Weaver grabbed the door handle with both hands and threw his whole body weight into an attempt to close the door that Ranma was only holding with his left hand. The door didn't budge an inch. Ranma smirked and continued. "Did Hiroshi act differently shortly before his murder?"  
  
Weaver shrugged, walked back into his office, sat down in a swivel chair, started rotating, pulled out a cigarette, and lit up.  
  
"Did he go anywhere unsafe for a story or for no apparent reason? Or some place that he wouldn't think was dangerous?"  
  
Weaver started so violently that he coughed and his cigarette went flying out of his mouth. It hit a spot low on the wall, leaving a little ash spot, and fell to the floor. Ranma grinned and stomped on it while Weaver continued to cough, sounding as if maybe he was going to hork up a lung.  
  
"I'll take that as a 'yes.'" Ranma said. "Where was it?"  
  
Weaver just stared stonily back at him, a bit of saliva dripping down his chin from his violent coughing fit.  
  
Ranma was evidently not in a patient mood that morning, because he was an inch from Weaver in two big strides. He lifted the taller man off the ground and brought his face nearly nose-to-nose. "Listen up. My friend is dead, and I want to find the guy who made him that way. Don't make me get violent," he snarled.  
  
Weaver smirked. "Ever heard the expression...'wild horses couldn't drag it out of me?'"  
  
Nabiki and I looked at each other and almost cracked up. Weaver obviously didn't know of the significance behind that particular phrase, but given Ranma's name, we found it pretty amusing.  
  
"Oh, really," Ranma said. "Shall we test that theory? Why don't you want to tell me?"  
  
"Hiroshi tried to tell," Weaver said, his eyes murky. "Look what happened to him."  
  
"Don't you care about justice?"  
  
"Justice," Weaver replied, "means nothing to the dead."  
  
-----------------------------------------------------------------------  
  
"Are all your business calls like that?" Nabiki asked, hiding a snicker, as we got into Ranma's car. She was in the passenger seat, Joey and I were in the back. It wasn't the sleak little black two-seater he'd taken me around in on the first day - this little expensive car of indeterminate origin had four seats, meaning Nabiki and Joey could come along, too. How did he anticipate these things?  
  
"That wasn't funny." Ranma stared ahead, stone-faced. "He was scared shitless. I want to know why. Just because no one at the paper could tell us doesn't mean I can't find out. Which probably leads to the bad part of the city. Someone knows something about something."  
  
"Gee," Nabiki said, "could you vague that last part up for me?"  
  
"So now we go, right?" I suggested, knowing already what his answer would be.  
  
I wasn't surprised. "There is no 'we,'" Ranma told me. "I'm going and you're not."  
  
"But - "  
  
"You are NOT pulling that 'oh I'll be so helpless all alone' crap again, Akane. Samson was relatively safe. You want to come with me? Tough luck. Where I'm going, you'll stick out like Kasumi at an Eminem concert."  
  
"Are you saying I won't be able to take care of myself?!" He was probably right this time, but I was so sick of being treated like extra baggage. I wanted to establish that I was more than some stupid little wimp. Even if my behavior didn't back it up.  
  
"Yeah, that's what I'm saying," he snapped. "You won't be able to deal with this, okay? You walk in there and a neon sign will appear over your head saying 'hello, I'm a victim! Come and get me!'"  
  
"You think I can't knock those bastards out with one punch?"  
  
"No, but I think that you don't make a hobby of catching bullets! These people don't play by Nerima rules, Akane! They'll have you helpless from yards away, because they don't take that kind of a risk. You. Do. Not. Get. A. Choice."  
  
"This may come as a surprise to you," I ground out through clenched teeth, "but I am an ADULT, and if I want to be stupid and put myself in danger, I have every right to do that."  
  
Ranma's eyes were indigo fire. "The hell you do. Not while I'm around. I didn't come on this case to solve it, Akane. I came to make sure you stayed alive. Don't make that job harder than it already is."  
  
"He's right, Akane," Nabiki offered.  
  
"Fine." My mouth twisted to become something between a smirk and a scowl. "So drop us off at the America's Youth office on Mass Ave."  
  
Ranma raised an eyebrow. "You want to go to a center for runaway teens?"  
  
"No," I said, too sweetly. "I want to go visit my boyfriend. Unlike certain other *obnoxious* members of the male gender, he doesn't treat me like I'm stupid, weak, or someone he has unconditional control over."  
  
Ranma's face darkened a moment before he turned back to the wheel. Nabiki turned around in the passenger seat next to him to look at me. "That was low, Akane." She said. Her voice was disappointed, and maybe even a little hurt.  
  
I sat back and buried my nose in Joey's fur to hide my tears. A week ago, I had thought things couldn't get any worse. Now I had what I'd spent eight years *wishing* I had, and life was even more miserable.  
  
And yes, I KNEW it was low. Just when I needed to be strong I was falling victim to the weakness that had held me back eight years ago - the inability to face the truth about my relationship with Ranma. And I wasn't even sure I knew what that was anymore.  
  
-----------------------------------------------------------------------  
  
Nabiki, Joey, and I made a bit of a strange trio walking into Anthony's office. His eyebrows shot up, but he smiled and walked around his desk to greet us. Joey leapt forward to sniff his shoes, his pants, and between his legs, at which point Anthony pulled him away by his collar. I giggled, Nabiki snorted. I could tell that she was going to put a sincere effort into hating him, and it didn't really bother me. The truth was, even if I couldn't have Ranma, I wanted there to be someone who believed, like I did, that we should have been together, and who believed, as I did not, that we still should. So she was playing Ranma's defender...but Anthony, despite her obvious distaste for him, was making a sincere effort NOT to hate her, and I was sort of proud of him, too. Most people hate Nabiki without even trying, and the fact that Anthony was trying to see through the harsh front of my sister reminded me uncannily of Ranma.  
  
"Akane," he said, coming forward. "It's so nice to see you. But...why are you here?"  
  
I shrugged. "I wanted to see you, and I didn't have anything else to do. I hope I'm not bothering you."  
  
Anthony was now in a fix. I could tell from his face that I'd come at a bad time - that he really was very busy - but he wasn't about to be rude or unfriendly enough to say so, especially after my traumatizing past few days. The most creative response he could come up with was "Uh..."  
  
I sighed. "Well, nevermind. Sorry."  
  
"Wait, wait!" Anthony said quickly. "I was just about to sit down for some lunch. I could have some more food brought in for you guys and we could eat together."  
  
"Are you sure you have time?"  
  
"Of course. No problem."  
  
The food was brought in from the cafeteria downstairs. It wasn't great food, but it wasn't high-school cafeteria food, either. We sat around, making small talk. I could see in Nabiki's eyes that she had a million witty, obnoxious little comebacks to every comment Anthony made; thank God she never said any of them out loud. Joey wondered around, eating leaves of Anthony's office plants, tail wagging so violently that his body wagged with it. Then he crawled under the desk, so that all we could see was his tail going upwards of a hundred miles per hour, and we all cracked up. Anthony's laugh at this point was a little strained, probably because of Joey's property damage. He went around and dragged Joey - who had eaten something that left white powder on his nose - from under the desk.  
  
"Damn you, Darth Vader," he said, "I was saving that donut for later."  
  
-----------------------------------------------------------------------  
  
"I'm thinking maybe we should go," I said a little later. "I know we interrupted something. I didn't mean to tie you up."  
  
"It was no problem," Anthony assured us. "You're much better company than the people I'm late meeting."  
  
Ranma swung in the door. Now that they were in the same room, Anthony and Ranma were quite the startling dissimilarity; Ranma again in mostly black, from the pants to the shirt to the black leather duster - the only thing that offered contrast was a silver stud dragon earring; Anthony in some casual but probably designer suit, looking put together and sophisticated.  
  
Nabiki sat up, as if she were expecting them to immediately start beating the hell out of each other. "So," she said to Ranma, "did you find out whatever you needed to?"  
  
"I have a little more information," Ranma told her, "but it just makes everything more confusing."  
  
Anthony was looking back and forth. "What's this about?"  
  
"We're playing detective," Nabiki told him. "We're trying to figure out who killed Hiroshi."  
  
Anthony's eyebrows drew into a frown. "I don't think that's a good idea. Shouldn't you leave it up to the professionals?"  
  
I could feel Ranma immediately bristle. "Excuse me?"  
  
"Let the people who actually know what they're doing handle the dangerous stuff."  
  
They were squaring off. If they got in a fight it would be pretty stupid on both their parts, since Anthony would get the crap beaten out of him but Ranma would be the one to get in trouble - any law enforcement, should it be called in, would see Anthony as the credible one.  
  
"Are you saying I don't know what I'm doing?"  
  
"You aren't a cop."  
  
"I'm a bounty hunter."  
  
"So, no. You don't have any legal right to pull this stupid stunt off, and there's no proof you're qualified for it, either. Look, I'm just trying to make sure Akane stays safe."  
  
"She'll be safe with me. Certainly a hell of a lot safer than she will be if she's with you."  
  
Well, *that* jacked Anthony's ire level up to 'high.' "Oh, really? No offense, but you look a lot more like you might be working with these scumbags then I do."  
  
"If you judge only by appearances you must have a pretty fucking miserable life. I'm a whole lot better than you at playing this game."  
  
"Don't bet on it."  
  
"Why not? I could use the cash."  
  
"If you're short on dough, you must *not* be very good at your job."  
  
Ranma leaned forward, his knuckles on Anthony's desk, putting his face forward so that he and Anthony were almost nose-to-nose. Listerine close. "I'm the best there is."  
  
Anthony smirked, but I could tell he was intimidated. I could give him credit for not showing it, but I noticed the tiny tightening around the eyes and drawing of the mouth. When he said, "Of course," he emphasized the second word oh-so-slightly and sarcastically.  
  
I could practically see Ranma's hackles rise. However, both of them - after a beat - leaned back; glaring, but obviously backing off. Or so I thought. Neither broke eye contact.  
  
"Guys," Nabiki said, "staring competition: not accomplishing anything. We have a murderer on our trail, and the little no-blinking contest is not even on the top ten list of things we have to worry about. Okay?"  
  
I didn't expect Nabiki's voice to cut through the heavy haze of testosterone, but I was surprised. Sort of.  
  
Both men (God, it still felt weird referring to Ranma as a man - sure, I'd called him 'manly,' especially in his mother's presence, but that was different. That was man spelled m-a-c-h-o. Now I was spelling it a-d-u-l- t, and applying THAT to Ranma was weird. Okay, digression...) leaned back, glaring for all they were worth. At the moment, due to how immature they were acting, they were worth very little, so perhaps that isn't how I should put it. The point, straight and upfront, was that each had the complete in-your-face enmity of the other.  
  
"So," Ranma offered, through gritted teeth, "nice to see you again."  
  
Translation: Go to hell, you Armani-clad, stuffed-shirt little bastard.  
  
"Right back at you," Anthony replied.  
  
Translation: Same to you, asshole.  
  
So maybe I wouldn't be spelling it a-d-u-l-t for a long time yet. Sigh...  
  
"Hey," Ranma said, glancing down at Joey, "who Elizabeth Ardened the dog's face?"  
  
"It was the donut," Nabiki told him.  
  
"It must be stopped," Ranma said with faux indignant determination.  
  
-----------------------------------------------------------------------  
  
Anthony insisted upon coming with us - at least to wherever we decided to go - because abandoning me to Ranma's care would have seemed like a concession; like losing the match. Thus we all stomped out of the double glass doors in a row of four: Anthony, then me, then Nabiki, then Ranma. There was two inches of snow on the ground that had fallen while we were inside, but despite the layer of peace it added to the city no one was in a good mood except Joey, who couldn't put himself in a bad mood unless the world was coming to an end or he didn't have any food. And I wasn't even sure about the world-coming-to-an-end part.  
  
We walked out of the America's Youth building and bumped into - you guessed it! - Gosunkugi.  
  
Ranma's eyebrows shot up, Anthony showed no reaction, and Nabiki looked as if she was trying to suppress laughter. Gos looked from me, to Ranma, to Anthony, and back to me.  
  
"Hey, Gos," I sighed.  
  
(What the Hell) Translation: What is it *this* time?  
  
"Hey. What are you doing here?"  
  
"Visiting my boyfriend. You?"  
  
"Uh..." Okay, he wasn't about to say 'following you,' but I wanted to see if he could come up with a suitable lie. Evidently not.  
  
Ranma looked amused. "We could have you arrested for stalking, you know."  
  
Anthony looked at him then back at Gosunkugi, clearly not understanding the humor in the aforementioned situation.  
  
"Ah...heh heh." Gosunkugi said weakly, not sure whether or not Ranma was joking. I waved at him and we all turned away, starting down the block to where Ranma's car was parked. Nabiki winked at Gos before doing a nifty little swivel on her high heels and following us, and he turned seven and a half shades of scarlet.  
  
"Na-*bi*-ki!" I hissed at her.  
  
"Hey," she grinned and shrugged, "THAT is never gonna happen to him again in his life, right? I figure it was a nice gesture."  
  
Geez. Sisters are so weird.  
  
We hadn't walked ten feet when Ranma suddenly whirled around. The rest of us turned, expecting something horrible had snuck up on us, but there was nobody there...just empty, snowy sidewalk.  
  
"There's no one there," Anthony said, in a tone of voice that added 'you moron.'  
  
"Exactly!" Ranma said in synchrony with Nabiki, who evidently got it (unlike Anthony, Joey, and I, although the day Joey 'got' something hell would freeze over).  
  
"Huh?" I said.  
  
"Gosunkugi," Ranma said. "Where'd he go?"  
  
"Uh..."  
  
In three strides Ranma was back where Gos had been standing. He glanced at the snow on the ground for a heartbeat and then took off at full sprint down a side alley.  
  
Nabiki, Anthony, Joey, and I followed to Gos's starting point. "Look," Nabiki said. "These aren't footprints; it looks as if Gos was dragged back through here!"  
  
We ran down the alley after Ranma, who had disappeared around a corner. We turned right and almost slammed into Ranma, who used an arm to keep us from going any farther and held a finger to his lips.  
  
" - don't *know* anything!" Gos's voice floated back to us, high and panicked and too hoarse with fear to scream.  
  
"You know what, shrimp?" The voice was harsh, firm, and not people- friendly. "I think you're lying. I think you're a deceitful little motherfucker who doesn't know what's good for him. If you're smart, you're gonna tell me, 'cause otherwise you might get hurt." There was the sound of a thump and a kick, and a wheeze of pain from Gos. A soft laugh. "Of course, I'll probably be hurting you anyhow."  
  
And then Anthony decided he'd had enough - that if Ranma, the big bad crime fighter, wasn't going to play hero, he would. So he charged into the alley, yelling his head off.  
  
Ranma swore and took off after him; Nabiki, Joey, and I followed.  
  
The man holding Gos two feet off the ground was over six feet tall. He had long hair and was covered with dirt. His dark, ripped clothes hung off him, and when he turned he bared yellowed teeth in our direction.  
  
"Dealer," Ranma muttered to me. "But not one who's doing to well."  
  
And then he was lost in a whirlwind of movement. Anthony had gotten out of the alleyway sooner but he was moving in slow motion compared to Ranma. Ranma came around with a hooking kick and a backfist - both to the guy's temple - and his opponent dropped like a bag of sand. Gos sat whimpering in the snow; Ranma held out a hand and pulled him up.  
  
"Jason Bourne called," Nabiki said to Ranma. "He wants his Identity back."  
  
He gave her a secretive smirk.  
  
"What the fuck!?" Anthony said.  
  
Ranma turned to him, very calmly. "Excuse me?"  
  
Anthony was royally pissed off. Perhaps from genuine concern; perhaps from a desire to sooth wounded male pride from the fact that he hadn't even helped with the takedown. Either way, he was mad. "If you could do that all along, Jackie Chan, why did you hide? Why didn't you just barge in there? This guy could have gotten seriously hurt!"  
  
Ranma's features drew down into a dangerous snarl. He and Anthony turned to face each other; they were squaring off again. "Why didn't I immediately go charging in there? Because I'm not the moron that you evidently are! He could have had a gun, that's the problem! You can't just charge into a situation without knowing what the fuck is gonna happen! The more you know, the more likely you're able to prevent disaster. I know that from experience. You have NO FUCKING EXPERIENCE."  
  
"I have something you lack."  
  
"Like what?"  
  
"A brain!"  
  
"Coulda fooled me."  
  
Anthony threw a punch at Ranma; Ranma, of course, dodged as if it were going at all of .5 miles per hour.  
  
"Pathetic," Ranma laughed, which of course only raised Anthony's fury level.  
  
Both were so absorbed in each other that neither noticed the dealer climb back to his feet.  
  
With a gun in his hand.  
  
Nabiki shrieked, and the guy got off a round over her shoulder. Ranma and Anthony whirled toward the gunman, who first took aim at Ranma, then changed his mind and aimed the gun at Anthony.  
  
He pulled the trigger.  
  
I shouted "NO!" and stepped in front of him. It wasn't one of those melodramatic, self-revelation moments where I realize if-he-dies-I-will-die or something along those lines. Truth is, I never once considered whether or not Anthony was worth giving my life for. It was simply an instinct of protection; the same thing I admired in Ranma rubbing off on me.  
  
But Ranma had much more experience with the protection thing.  
  
Which is probably why he stepped in front of *me.*  
  
There was the crack from the gun, a splash of blood across the snow, and Ranma collapsed in a boneless heap.  
  
-----------------------------------------------------------------------  
  
END OF PART SIX (PLEASE review - or drop me an email at nakigoe_chan@hotmail.com. I reply to all emails.)  
  
In Chapter 7: Seven Up: Akane finally not only kicks some serious ass, but also decides...on Ranma! Unfortunately, problems arise: the stolen computer disks vanish, the police finally have an arrest warrant, and sniff the girls have no Midol! (And yes, it's already written. Come to that, so is chapter 8...)  
  
(Sweatdrop...) Yeah, yeah, I know. My friends read this chapter's ending, and then they went into the kitchen and came out with the butcher knives. It wasn't a pretty picture. But this is probably my least favorite chapter (my friends have officially voted eight as the best chapter so far, and I tend to agree), so if you liked this one, positive reinforcement is always a plus.  
  
Minna-san, check out http://www.faniac.com: the website of the first ever fanfiction/fanart magazine!  
  
Review Responses (in chronological order):  
  
Exodus: Thanks; all the Ranma fics were starting to sound the same to me, so I was trying to do something interesting, and it's nice to know I've sort of succeeded.  
  
Dane17: You're probably right. Thanks for the compliment and for the advice...grammar is not my friend. And I know where you're coming from. I'm in a high school comp class, too...  
  
seongmi: Mostly the people who complain seem to hold the same view. Except Carlen and Hilda, who, after reading my cliffhangers, tend to attempt to cause me physical pain. ^_^  
  
taku: That would be very interesting; unfortunately (or fortunately), I'm too much of a hopeless romantic to try it. I don't guarantee a happy ending, but I very much doubt Anthony and Akane will wind up together.  
  
WTF: Oh...okay, ouch. Allow me to explain. I agree in many aspects: Chapter 5 does not put Akane in a terribly positive light. She is, on many levels, behaving very much in her own self-interest. We must degrade her for this, because she has no excuse. It isn't as if Ranma isn't the marriageable type. It isn't as if he never left her before, it isn't as if she's fearing for her life because a killer is after her, and it isn't as if she hasn't had time to think this situation through because, hey, anyone responsible would plan for this state of affairs. Can you honestly say that you'd never jumped for the safest solution presented to you when you were faced with overwhelming odds? Akane's actions are cowardly, I'll give you that. And since you have so obviously never been afraid that lightening would strike the same place twice, you couldn't possibly understand. Everyone has their moments of weakness. Akane's situation lends itself to hers, and she'll work through it and face up to her mistakes. Have a little patience. And you claim that all she brings to the relationship is the ability to bear children...not ambition (despite the fact that she's sacrificed monetary comfort for the sake of following her dream) drive (despite the fact that she COULD have walked away from this situation as opposed to putting her life in danger) or wit (well...wasn't I SOMETIMES funny?). So what does Ranma or Anthony have that she doesn't besides money? Is that more important? I guess you think so...  
  
GundamAce: Ah, the detective. DumdumDUM. Unfortunately (or, for me, fortunately), there are a few little holes in your logic, and a few things I didn't make clear. They met up at the theater because it was the only place Hiroshi could be sure they both knew how to get to; he didn't have the time to prattle off directions. The theater itself has little to no role in the mystery, and Gos works there as the unofficial photographer and Odd Job Boy - meaning when the alarm goes off, he gets the call to go check it out. You're right, Akane was only in there for five minutes - but it took her twenty to get there, and Hiroshi probably got there several minutes earlier. As for Gos's theories...you say he knows way too much. But looking back at these chapters, it looks more like he knows very little. Ranma punched holes in most of his theories in chapter 3, and he sounds a little melodramatic the whole way through, doesn't he? If someone talked to ME that way, I'd think they just read too many trashy mystery novels. And as for Akane - she's NOT stupid enough to miss it, wait and see. ^_~  
  
Haruka52487: Well, I can't write lemons to save my life. But yes, sex will be had at some point. ^_^  
  
May: possibly the most faithful reviewer of Ranma ½ fanfiction in general, and also one of the most encouraging. Your reviews are always wonderful.  
  
Akane-chan: I am no understanding this word. Hoo-ry? Hurry? What mean this? (Sorry...^_^)  
  
Jinx: Yatta!  
  
Silver: I'm so flattered that you like my story so much, because I love yours!  
  
Loki & Beps: Arigatou!  
  
Inuki: Uh...I guess I was evil, ne? Sorry, and thanks!  
  
Numena: Nope, you're not imagining it - the Stephanie Plum series, in fact, inspired this story. ^_^  
  
Sakura MysticMoon: Sure, that sentence made sense! (It also kinda made me fall out of my chair laughing, but...) and the computer, even if it doesn't always comply with our wishes, is our friend. ^_~ Arigatou!  
  
Carlen and Yueling: Please, God, have a little mercy. ^_^;;;  
  
Zarrah Bevan: I did fall off. There were pointy rocks. Stupid cliff. ^_^  
  
Erie Maxwell: Yatta! One of the biggest fans of AY (or so it appears), thank you so much! But, just to be clear: Anthony is NOT a Morelli character. (And BTW, while Ranger IS my favorite character, I believe that Stephanie should wind up with Joe. Because Ranger is MINE. ^_^)  
  
Otakubuddy: Is that you, Mariel? You were always the one who didn't threaten me! Eeep! hides  
  
SweetlilBell: Take...a deep breath. Okay, again. ^_^ I'm glad you're so enthusiastic, though. Jen: Arigatou!  
  
Beps: Uh...didn't you already review? Not that I'm complaining, of course...^_~  
  
Shaka[Zulu: Just did, Shaka-chan!  
  
Lipana: I agree entirely, but Ranma ½ wouldn't be Ranma ½ if the cast wasn't made up entirely of idiots.  
  
Ikillyoupig: Yup, this is the same Akane: the Akane who has had her heart broken, has had eight years to mature, has had to take care of herself, and who will, in chapter 7, kick some SERIOUS ass.  
  
Ka-chan: As you see, I HAVEN'T given up on it, and thanks for the guestbook thing...  
  
jL637: Arigatou!  
  
Well, that's it...I dunno what else to say, except, again, PLEASE R & R.  
  
Ja ne!  
  
~ nakigoe-chan 


	7. Seven Up

(-blows dust off account-) Hey, I remember this place... 

(-ducks as furious insults, rotten produce, and possibly a rabid poodle are thrown in her direction-)

Um, yeah. Hi. I'm not dead.

Okay, so it's been like two and a half years. Or three. Or something. Depending on the story this is, since I'm crossposting this set of Author's Notes in both 'After You' and 'The Dying of the Light.' I know it's been a long time. I'm hoping people are still inclined to read my stories, even though looking at them after three years all I can say is "Holy fuck, these are absolute crap." I apologize profusely to anyone who has sent me emails; I haven't been replying to them because I haven't checked the account I have listed because I think it's, like, dead.

I've improved significantly in terms of skill level as a writer since I last touched any of my fanfic, but you won't see evidence of that for the next couple of chapters because they were written way back when I was actually posting. In the meantime I've finally come into my own as a writer, to an extent, as I've explored stories with my own original characters in my own original world and even started playing with a novel. (EDIT: I just actually reread the fic and I'm less inclined to post this chapter and more inclined to delete my entire account. Go Abby, queen of the suck. This stuff is downright embarrassing.)

I will continue to work on 'After You' and 'The Dying of the Light,' although my focus has shifted to my original work so progress will be slow. (Also I kind of forget how I meant to end them. But I'm pretty sure I wrote it down somewhere.) I will probably not, however, be starting any new stories. There will probably be some oneshots here and there if inspiration hits, and I'll do my best to finish my works in progress, but to be honest that's probably it.

I apologize profusely for my extensive absence to anyone who actually read and liked these stories. I'm a bad person, and should be eaten by an armadillo. While I can't read the emails I've gotten I've read every review, and I appreciate them very much. They put a smile on my face during a period of time when I really, really needed it.

All that said? Ranma ½ belongs to Rumiko Takahashi and the Stephanie Plum series that inspired this story belongs to Janet Evanovich. I bow before there skills, and I hope you enjoy the long-awaited seventh chapter of...

-------------------

AFTER YOU

Chapter 7: Seven Up

By: nakigoe-chan

-------------------

In that instant, my senses went on overdrive.

Throughout Ranma's stay with us in my teenage years, I'd gotten used to pretty much everything, but I still managed to overreact to everything. The slightest insult – even from someone whose opinion didn't matter to me, such as Moose – turned me into a rampaging rhino. I became furious, and I became violent.

But in the years after he left, I poured a lot of energy into learning to calm down. The weeks and even months after he left saw me more emotional than ever, but my instability also provided the perfect training ground to get over it. I was very well aware of which element of my personality had driven Ranma away, and good God, what if I drove away someone else I loved?

After years of calming down, I was master of not getting violent. Sounds weird – sounds very un-me – but it was true. Haven't you noticed that, since this whole fiasco began, I've been more hyper and scared and angry than I've ever been and I still have yet to hit anybody? Okay, so that last little fact is about to lose its validity, but so what? That just makes the point.

Now where was I? Oh, yeah. With my senses on overdrive.

I could feel the drop of Ranma's blood on my boot – the weight of it burning through the leather and the sock to scald the skin underneath, despite the fact that it was not going to sink through. My fingers felt cold and stiff at the joints, my nose was stuffed up. My ears picked up the nonexistent sound that was snow falling.

For an instant of adaptation, all I could do was stare at Ranma's body in the snow. Nabiki had run over next to us and thrown the side of the duster Ranma was wearing over to see the wound.

We only got a glance at it because Ranma stood back up.

It certainly wasn't fatal, but it wasn't something to laugh at either. The bullet had grazed his left side – almost enough to the right to be embedded, but not quite enough, thank God. He was bleeding all over the place, and he would certainly need stitches, but he was not going to die, and that was what mattered.

If you thought this would cool my temper, however, you thought wrong.

The thing is, the bullet HADN'T been embedded in Ranma. Meaning it had traveled the course intended – even after Ranma was hurt - and it had not hit Anthony or me. Meaning it wasn't going to. Meaning Ranma had been terribly wounded protecting me from something that wouldn't have hurt me.

Meaning that all the sonuvabitch with the gun had done was shoot Ranma. Huh. Imagine that.

Of course, trying to kill Ranma was the only thing besides Ranma himself that could morph me back into my old, violent self. I was baaa-ack...

Look out, ladies and gents; here comes Godzilla.

The poor wimpy little guy was armed only with one wimpy little gun. Do you think he even stood a chance? Hope you didn't bet on it.

My first punch sent him back into the wall on the opposite side of the alley. I was on him in an instant. A backhand cracked his head against the wall again; a roundhouse kick broke his nose. And I wasn't close to finished. I could hear Anthony and Nabiki in the background; I could feel them – how weak they were! – trying to pull me off him. With a shake of my arms, I sent them rolling back through the snow. But they were still begging me to stop; still trying to intervene. They were afraid I would kill him.

Their fears were justified, for that was precisely what I planned to do.

I had thought, for a horrible, instantaneous forever, that Ranma was dead. The emotional agony that put me through – the fact that Ranma was mere inches to the left of death – could only be punished by the ending of my tormentor's life. I had never felt so savage, so strong, so helpless.

And then I felt Ranma's hand on my shoulders, feather-light, telling me without words to back off. And I abandoned my newfound rage – or it abandoned me; a fire raging away from that which it has already destroyed - and melted into defenseless tears in his arms.

-----------------------------------------------------------------------

I must have fainted.

The next thing I remember is blinking open groggy eyes to see Ranma, Nabiki, and Anthony standing over me with worried expressions on their faces. We were back at the hotel, and I was lying on the bed.

Anthony and Ranma were standing next to each other, and neither seemed to have a problem with it. They must have been really concerned about me.

But I knew that after this they would probably never get along. I wouldn't be able to have both of them – both would get jealous and furious and god knows probably violent. I wouldn't even want both of them; that wasn't what love was about. Love was about having a one and only.

So it all came down to who I was willing to hurt.

Before my rational mind could get a word in edgewise, my heart screamed out to me. Protect Ranma! It said. At ALL costs!

And I realized, with a sad wisdom that had hidden itself away since this whole fiasco began, that choosing Anthony would hurt all of us. Didn't he deserve a woman he loved, who would wake up to his face and have it be the face she had seen in her dreams, rather than one who would wake up to his face and wish she was still lost in a dreamworld where she could be together with someone else?

Argh! This was too much to sort out on my own.

I had to talk to Nabiki. So, how to get rid of the testosterone twins?

If you're female, you may already know how I went about this.

See, one of women's worst enemies since the dawn of time is that three-letter combo of M-E-N. HOWEVER, there is a greater three-letter enemy of women, and men are so horrified by the terror women combat when faced with it that it will, without a doubt, send the male gender tripping over its own feet in an effort to get out of the vicinity.

What are those magical three letters?

P-M-S, of course.

"Ugh..." I said to Nabiki. "I think I need some Midol." Very glamorous post-faint declaration, don't you think?

Both Ranma and Anthony went pale. You could actually see the gears in their heads turning, searching for an excuse to get out of the room before they were sent out to buy said medicine. Or, worse yet, tampons.

"Huh," Nabiki said. "I don't have any. We'll have to hit the pharmacy." I knew this meant she'd caught on because Nabiki was always prepared.

Ranma and Anthony started to sweat.

Nabiki turned to Ranma. "You know, it's your own fault you don't have your curse anymore, which would allow you to get whatever you want from that aisle with minimum embarrassment - " (this prompted a blank look from Anthony) " - so we'll have to send you. You've brought this on yourself, silly...boy."

"Haven't I had enough embarrassment for one lifetime?" Ranma griped. But, nonetheless, he went out the door. Even after eight years, Ranma was apparently a glutton for embarrassment.

"Go to the hospital on your way back here and get that cut looked at!" Nabiki yelled after him. "You're big with the 'I can withstand any pain' thing, but you got shot, so listen to me on this one, okay?"

Ranma was already down the hallway, and gave no response.

So I still had to get rid of Anthony. Hmm.

Nabiki had whipped out her cell phone and was paging someone a message. Anthony was still looking at me. Then he smiled. "Those were some moves you had back there. When did you become Xena the Warrior Princess?"

Okay, so maybe I could keep him in the room a LITTLE longer.

"I've trained in martial arts since I was young." I shook my head. "Usually I can keep my cool, but I was just so scared..."

"Understandable. You were incredible. You're better than Mr. Bigshot, right?"

I realized that Anthony knew nothing about martial arts, and couldn't have soundly judged our fighting skills – especially since Ranma's objective was 'knock the guy out' and mine was 'send him to hell.'

I could judge, and Ranma had improved since I'd last seen him – by a lot. Ranma was leagues and leagues beyond what I could ever hope to achieve. Then again, knowing him, he'd spent the last eight years taking on challenges from people who specialized in things like Martial Arts Chihuahua Grooming.

"No," I said, shaking my head again and laughing. "I'm nowhere NEAR him."

Anthony opened his mouth to reply.

And then, without warning, there was a loud siren-like sound. Anthony slapped his forehead. "Shit! That's my car alarm!"

Nabiki gave me a tiny secret smile as Anthony rushed out of the room.

I gave her The Look. "Okay, what did you do?"

She smiled innocently. "From evidence perceived in your now-dead apartment's bathroom I happen to know that your period ended a few days ago. Not only that, but PMS is the oldest trick in the book when it comes to getting rid of men. I figured you wanted both of them gone, so I sent Ranma for the Midol then paged him to create a distraction that would get Anthony out of the building."

"Go Jean Grey, Telepathic Wonder."

"Yeah, tell me about it. So what's up?"

"I'm an idiot."

"We went to all this trouble just so you could tell me that? Old news, little sister, and one of the subjects covered in Obvious 101."

I sighed. "No, that's not what I meant."

Nabiki was instantly at attention. She could tell I was serious. This meant, for her, either a moment when her little sister needed her, a moneymaking opportunity, or both. I could tell she was itching to cross her fingers and chant 'money, money, money.'

"With Ranma," I managed, fighting unexplained tears. "I messed up things with Ranma."

If Nabiki had been anyone else or if it had actually involved money, she would have squealed. What she said, however, was, "Please tell me this isn't post-traumatic stress disorder for what happened in the alley."

I laughed. It sounded like the helpless laugh of a crier being tickled – one with little humor and much desperation. Someone who couldn't help laughing even though they didn't want to. This was ironic, because for once I was somewhat amused. "No, this is about the relationship thing. I...made the wrong choice, didn't I?"

"YES!" Nabiki said enthusiastically.

The next question took a lot of guts. "Is it...too late to be realizing this?"

Nabiki was silent for a long while. I could tell she wanted to say no, of course it wasn't – but she knew that a dishonest answer would eventually hurt me more.

"I don't actually know," she told me. "We'll have to find out."

-----------------------------------------------------------------------

And so operation WHFS went into effect. Aptly named because 1) it stood for Wild Horse Feelings Strategy, and 2) it was a pretty good radio station. Actually we sort of worked around the name so that its acronym would fit the radio station. This was for no particular reason; if you have a sister, you'll understand that sisters often have the weirdest inside jokes that may or may not be actually funny. The name was unbearably stupid, but didn't really matter.

Now we just had to think it up.

"There's an easy way to do this," Nabiki told me. "It constitutes of me talking to him and you spying on us."

"Won't work," I told her. "He'll sense my ki."

Nabiki rolled her eyes. "Have you learned nothing from me?" She sighed. "Listen up. There's this fun little device they came up with a few years ago. It's called a cotton candy machine. No, wait, it's called a tape recorder."

"Oh no. Not that. You aren't gonna - "

"Tape our conversation? Now that you mention it, that just might work..."

"Na-BI-ki!"

"Well, I suppose I could just tell you later what happened, but you run the risk of me forgetting the juicy bits."

"There MUST be a better way to do this."

"You could walk up to him and kiss him. Or you could fling caution to the winds and try to get him into bed."

"NABIKI!"

Nabiki was all innocence, emphasis on the wide, blinking eyes. "You mean that, given the chance, you wouldn't sleep with him?"

"Uh..."

"See? Of course you would. Hell, I would. That boy has one fine body on him, and I'm willing to bet he - "

"NABIKI!"

"Is that the extent of your vocabulary, little sister? I'm flattered. Although it probably isn't. You could probably manage other names as well, along with different emotions behind them. The example I'm thinking of right now would be: 'ooooooh, Ranma! Ranma!' Of course, if you say MY name in that context we'd be looking at incest, and EW." At which point we caught each other's eyes and practically fell off the bed laughing. I regained my composure long enough to hit her with a pillow, then collapsed again, knocking my purse off the bed and onto the floor, where the contents spilled out.

Uh-oh.

I'd forgotten about the disks Ranma and I had stolen from Hiroshi's office!

Nabiki grabbed it before I could stop her and groaned. "Some lipstick of yours got all over EVERYTHING," she reported. Sitting down again, she methodically began to go through my purse. "Here we are...makeup, sunglasses, gloves, wallet, checkbook – you have a bank account? - keys, script, Midol, Advil...computer disk?"

I breathed a brief sigh of relief, then had a moment of terror at the fact that Nabiki discovered it, then another rush of relief because, after all, Nabiki did this kind of thing all the time, then another rush of terror when I realized –

"Just one?" I asked cautiously.

Nabiki dug around some more. "Yup. Just one. Why? Should there be more?"

"Uh...maybe..."

She handed over the disk.

I remembered this disk. It was the ONLY one I remembered, actually. I took it not to help the case, but merely because I was curious. The label was as follows:

FLLFI/LWGFPP/TSAA/TNGB/LT/AY

...the initials of all the plays our theater was to perform in the ten-minute play exhibition. Out of morbid curiosity, I'd stolen the disk when I saw the label and realized it was the articles on the plays that had sent Hiroshi to the theater in the first place. But from what Hiroshi had said, I very much doubted the plays or the theater had been involved.

The disks - that might have solved the mystery – were gone!

Oh man, I thought – Ranma's gonna kill me.

-----------------------------------------------------------------------

At which point Ranma returned.

"Where's the Midol?" Nabiki asked.

"Uh-oh. I thought that was just a ploy to get rid of me."

"It was. But I wouldn't turn down free Midol."

"Nabs, you are PMSing twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week, fifty-two weeks a year. It would take more than all the Midol in the world to get rid of your PMS."

"I'm worse when I have cramps."

"I suppose you're right on that front."

"Did you go to the hospital like I told you to?"

"I picked up various stuff to use to put myself back together again at the CVS. Does that count?"

"No, but I suppose it's a start."

"Can I use your bathroom to figure all this junk out? Unless, of course, you want me taking my shirt off in here."

"That would be fine."

"The bathroom?"

"The loss of the shirt."

"Cute, Nabs."

"I'm sure that that description is not remotely accurate."

"NABIKI!"

"See," Nabiki said to me, "now HE'S doing it."

-----------------------------------------------------------------------

Ranma disappeared into the bathroom, which left Nabiki and me staring at each other in silence before once again collapsing into hysterics. Okay, so it was fun to see him get all flustered. It was more of the old Ranma, showing through the new one.

"Maybe you should follow him in there."

"NABIKI!"

Nabiki's eyes practically rolled out of her head. "Don't start that again. I'm SERIOUS. Just go talk to him. He got that wound trying to protect you, after all."

I guessed she was right. So, as much as it was very intimidating, I strolled over to the bathroom, opened the door, and walked in.

The first thing I noticed was that Nabiki was right. Shirtless Ranma was no unwelcome sight, and it took even more out of me to look away from his chest than it had taken to walk into the bathroom. Luckily, he didn't notice – he was too busy giving Nabiki – who was standing just outside the doorway, snickering and laughing - The Ultimate Glare of Death.

He stormed over and slammed the door in her triumphant face – before noticing that I was still in the room.

"Uhh..." he managed. "Did you want to leave too?" I had expected his tone to carry command – to hear the underlying message of 'get OUT' in his voice – but it held nothing but innocent curiosity.

"I, um, came to see if you needed any help."

At which point there was one of those long, semi-awkward moments when we just stared at each other. I'm sure that if rolling tumbleweed had been available, it would have entered stage right.

Then Ranma relaxed. "Maybe. Part of the cut is on my back and I can't see how far it goes. If you don't mind the mess, maybe you could show me where it ends." He gestured vaguely with a washcloth.

I walked up to him, and – God knows why – took the washcloth firmly from his hand, and pressed down at an angle with a pressure point, making him sit on a conveniently placed stool.

"Hey! Whadda ya think you're doin'?" But there was no real protest in his voice.

I moved behind him and sat down on the toilet seat so I could see the cut.

My first reaction was, well...eeyuuw, gross.

And then came guilt. It was my fault, after all.

"I'm sorry," I whispered.

He turned his head and looked at me. The question was in his eyes, but he didn't ask it.

I tried a different approach.

"Thank you." Said just as meekly, just as quietly.

He cocked an eyebrow. "What for?"

"What do you think, baka? What is this wound I'm cleaning? You got it saving my life – or don't you remember that, either!"

"I never saved your life," Ranma grumbled. "That bullet wouldn't have touched you or him anyway."

"Speaking of him..."

Ranma turned away from me. "I got the message. You don't need to spell it out for me."

"That's the thing. I don't think you did."

"He's you're boyfriend, right?"

"Technically, yes, but I don't think he's the one for me."

"Huh."

Silence followed, but it was not a tense silence. To go into depth on the relationship Ranma and I had would have caused a volcanic eruption, but he seemed content, for now, to leave it at the conclusion that at least it wasn't Anthony.

In the silence, I attempted to focus on my task, but when I looked down at his side and back, I noticed something that made me even more nauseous than the wound: the fact that it was not alone.

Ranma's body was a mosaic of scars, old and new. The wounds that had left them there ranged, as far as I could tell, from semiserious to should-have-been-fatal.

These scars told me that Ranma should have died years ago; I never should have had the opportunity to see him again. My body felt bathed in ice; the single hot tear that cut down my cheek, unseen by him, burned my skin.

"Hey," he said, interrupting my thoughts.

"Hmm?"

"What did I forget?"

"Huh?"

"That night, when your apartment blew up. I asked Nabiki earlier today if she knew, but she just got all close-lipped and giggly. So what happened?"

"Uh..."

"Man, don't you start."

"Can I plead the fifth?"

"No. No fifth-pleading allowed."

"Dammit."

"So?"

"So what?"

"So what happened?"

"What happened when?" I asked, all innocence.

"Akane! Come ON!"

"Okay, okay."

Silence.

"So?" He said.

"So what?"

"Oh man, not this again!"

"Am I annoying you?" I asked, in my best cutesy-innocent voice, batting my eyelashes as he turned around to give me a mock-glare.

"Maybe a little."

"Sorry."

"Will you get on with it?"

"Oh, I have a choice? I choose no."

"No choice. Talk."

"That's a violation of my rights."

His mouth twitched, unsuccessfully hiding a snicker. "Ask me if I care."

I sighed, big and melodramatic. "Okay, okay."

"Well...?"

Suddenly I was all blushy and shy. I mean, how was I supposed to tell him this?

"You...you kissed me."

He was up like a shot. No pun intended. "I WHAT?"

"You kissed me."

"I did NOT!"

Through a haze of blushes I managed to make my patented Now-You're-Pissing-Akane-Off expression, complete with massive eye twitch, and bonked him on the head with my fist. "Excuse me?"

"I CAN'T have kissed you."

"Are you calling me a liar?"

He ran his hands through his hair several times, muttering to himself. His eyes were closed and his cheeks were pink. He was flustered, young-Ranma again. It was so cute! "No, I just..."

"Can't have kissed an uncute tomboy like me?"

"I said you were a tomboy. The last time I called you uncute was eight years ago." He seemed to realize what he had said too late, and his cheeks went a shade darker.

We both faced each other, blushing, at a loss when it came to new conversation material.

The doorbell rang.

Shit! Was that Anthony coming back!

"Can you get that?" Nabiki yelled. "I'm in the middle of changing clothes."

Ranma sighed, tugged on a tank top, and left the bathroom. I realized that I had blood all over my hands, and turned on the sink as Nabiki came in to join me for some privacy.

We heard the door open, and we heard Ranma's voice – surprised – refer to the unseen man outside as the officer in charge of the murder case.

"Hey, Saotome. Get hurt?"

"The bullet did it."

"Looks bad."

"You should see the other guy."

"I bet."

"Hey, have you seen Akane Tendo around?"

"Why?"

"Because I have a warrant for her arrest for the murder of Hiroshi Takayama."

-----------------------------------------------------------------------

END OF PART SEVEN.

(-looks at faces of readers-) Hahahahahaha. C'mon, you knew that was coming. Please review or email me at my new email address, listed in el userinfo, anyway. Despite the fact that it sucked. Wince, wince, wince. But if you wrote me and I did not write back, I apologize, and it does not mean I do not love you. It means hotmail is psycho and my old yahoo account is dead. Hence, new yahoo. If you mail me at the above address, I WILL respond. Again, I apologize. Except not for my cliffhangers. Frankly I just find those funny.

IN CHAPTER 8: HARD EIGHT:

Nabiki's sexual preferences. Anthony bashing. Homer Simpson quoting. Mousse the playboy and Shampoo the...uh...you'll have to wait and find out. The secret of Ranma's cure. The return of a character no one is fond of. And more of what you all seem to love most...yeah, like I'd tell you what.

Aaaand now I have nothing else to say, really. Cheers, folks.


End file.
